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Showing posts with label Flower. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Flower. Show all posts

Biscuit Moon (Kids)

Once the rain had stopped, little drops of water still clung to the windows outside Freddie’s bedroom.

“Freddie!” Mum called from downstairs. “Are you ready yet? Nana and Grandy will be here soon!”

“I can’t find it!” Freddie shouted back.

“Can’t find what?” asked his mum, but Freddie didn’t respond. His head was tucked under the bed.

After looking under his bed for the third time, Freddie looked in one of his many toy boxes, then under his chair. But his bright red racing car was nowhere to be seen, and this wasn’t just any car. This was his favourite one.

There was a knock on the door.

Freddie sighed. A moment later he heard Grandy’s cheerful voice.

“Where’s our little racing car driver then?” he shouted upstairs.

Freddie slowly walked downstairs. “What’s wrong?” Nana asked gently.

“I can’t find my car,” Freddie mumbled. “I wanted to show you it.”

“The bright red one?” said Grandy.

Freddie nodded sadly.

“Well,” Nana smiled, “the rain’s stopped now, and it’s turned into a lovely bright day.”

“And,” she added cheerfully, “I happen to know the park has some excellent puddles today.”

That made Freddie smile a little.

So off they went.

The park smelled fresh after the rain. Tiny puddles glittered along the winding paths, and the wet grass sparkled in the sunshine.

Whilst Nana and Grandy walked side by side, Freddie raced ahead in his little blue wellies. He held his hands out like he was holding a steering wheel, and as he raced along, he made a quiet “brum, brum, brum” noise.

SPLASH.

He jumped in a little puddle.

SPLASH.

He jumped in an even bigger one that sent water flying everywhere.

Nana laughed. “I think that puddle nearly got Grandy!”

“Nearly?” said Grandy. “I think it soaked my socks!”

Freddie giggled and ran off again.

They watched ducks swimming across the pond. They counted dogs. They spotted a squirrel playing in some nearby trees.

By the time Freddie finally sat beside Nana and Grandy on a wooden bench, his cheeks were warm and pink from all the running.

As Freddie sat between them, Grandy gave Nana a knowing smile.

“What?” Freddie asked.

Grandy looked down at Freddie as Nana put an arm around her little grandson.

“Shall we tell Freddie about the Biscuit Moon?” he said quietly.

Nana’s eyes widened slightly.

“Oh…” she said quietly. “Yes. I think he’s old enough now.”

Freddie sat up straight and looked at them both.

“The Biscuit Moon?” he asked.

Nana reached into her bag, pulled out a small packet of biscuits, and handed them around. “Oh yes,” she smiled. “The Biscuit Moon.”

“Before you eat one,” Grandy whispered, “you have to snap it in half.”

“All at the same time,” Nana added. “Quite right, Nana,” Grandy replied. “I almost forgot that.”

Freddie held his biscuit carefully in both hands and watched Nana and Grandy raise theirs.

“One, two, three,” Nana said.

On three, they all broke their biscuits into two pieces.

“Good,” Nana smiled as she took a bite from hers.

“But what is the Biscuit Moon?” Freddie asked as he took a bite from one of his halves.

Grandy looked up at the pale daytime moon hanging above the clouds.

“Well,” he said quietly, “most people think the moon only comes out at night to shine.”

“But really,” Nana added, “the Biscuit Moon listens.”

Freddie looked up at the sky. “Listens to what?” he asked.

“Just listens,” Nana replied. “But it always seems to leave a little bit of happiness behind.”

“Nobody really knows how it works,” Grandy smiled. “It just does.”. “Not huge things,” continued Grandy. “Just little bits of happiness.”

“Like what?” Freddie asked.

Nana thought for a moment.

“Feeling better after being poorly,” she said, “or finding an extra sweet in your pocket when you think you’ve finished them.”

“Seeing someone you really hoped to see,” added Grandy.

“Or spotting a rainbow when you least expect it,” continued Nana. “Just something special and magical.”

Freddie looked down at the last half of the biscuit still in his hands.

“The Biscuit Moon seems to like shared biscuits best,” Nana explained softly.

So the three of them sat together on the park bench and finished eating their biscuits while the breeze rustled the trees around them.

And high above them, faint and pale in the bright afternoon sky, the moon quietly listened.

Freddie smiled to himself. It was probably just one of those funny little stories grandparents liked to tell.

Still, as he walked home between Nana and Grandy, holding both their hands, he secretly hoped the Biscuit Moon might really be listening after all.

The next morning, Freddie woke early.

The sunlight shone a beam of light across his room and over his blanket.

He rubbed his eyes, yawned, and was about to drop off to sleep again, when he spotted something, and then suddenly froze.

There, sitting neatly beside his pillow, was his bright red racing car.

Freddie grabbed it quickly. “The car!” he shouted, racing downstairs.

Mum looked up from the kitchen.

“You found it then?” she smiled.

“Did you put it there?” Freddie asked.

Mum shook her head.

“No, Freddie. But I’m pleased you found it again.”

Freddie looked down at his favourite toy.

Then he remembered the park. The biscuits. The story. The pale moon in the daytime sky.

A tiny smile spread across his face.

Very quietly, so only he could hear, Freddie whispered:

“Thank you, Grandy and Nana. And thank you, Biscuit Moon.”

Carters of Knottingley Brewery

There’s something strange about finding history on your own doorstep. I've lived in and around Knottingley for a very long time, I've spent years drinking beer, and more recently started writing about it, yet I had no idea that Knottingley once had its own proper brewery. Not a small operation either, but a serious one with tied houses, its own identity, and a long run in the town.

Once I found it, I couldn’t unsee it. And once I started reading more, the thought crept in… what if it came back? Not as a museum piece or a nostalgia exercise, but as a living Yorkshire beer again. This isn’t a business plan, it’s more of a running note, somewhere to collect the story and see where it leads.

The early days

Carters begins around the turn of the 1800s, built on a partnership that brought together three very different people and strengths.

  • Mark Carter came with brewing knowledge from an established family
  • Edward Gaggs brought money and local influence through his work in limestone and shipping
  • Robert Seaton added financial weight through banking. 

It’s a strong mix when you look back at it now, and it explains how quickly things moved.

At first, brewing took place in older buildings near the town, but that changed within a few years. By 1807, land at Mill Close had been bought, and by 1808 to 1809 a purpose-built brewery stood at Hill Top alongside Lime Grove (opposite where Morrisons is today). That quick and dramatic shift says a lot. This was never a side project; it was set up to be a proper, long-term operation.

Building a proper brewery

Through the early 1800s, the brewery established itself as a known local producer. By 1822 it appears in trade directories as “common brewers” at Mill Close, which gives a sense of its standing at the time. The site itself had real advantages, with deep bore water drawn from limestone, likely early use of steam power, and strong links to local transport and industry. It grew alongside the town rather than sitting outside it.

The Carter family years

The Carter name stayed central as ownership passed through generations. In 1836, Mark Carter stepped back and John Carter took control, and then in 1873 George William Carter succeeded him. By this stage the brewery had moved beyond being just a local concern; it had scale, structure, and a recognisable identity, it wasn't starting to become known as a never capable brewer of decent ales.

One detail from this period stands out more than most. In 1877, the brewery registered a trademark featuring a Talbot dog taken from the Carter coat of arms. It’s a small piece of history on the surface, but it carries real weight. If the name ever returned, that symbol would be the natural bridge between past and present.

Expansion and peak

In 1892, the business became a public company, with Carters’ Knottingley Brewery Company Ltd formed to acquire the brewery, Lime Grove, and 66 tied houses for £170,000 (approx £28m in todays money, that's not much less than the £33m it cost Tilbury Brands to buy BrewDog in March 2026). That figure alone tells you the scale of the operation at the time, and it marks the point where the brewery was fully established as a regional player.

At its peak, Carters was producing somewhere around 6,500 to 7,000 barrels a year (about 2m pints to you and me) and controlling close to 68 licensed houses. That puts it firmly in the category of a serious Yorkshire brewery rather than a small local outfit.

Trouble and takeover

The early 1930s brought problems. Internal struggles, legal disputes, and pressure on the business began to take their toll, and by 1935 the end came quickly. The brewery was taken over by Bentleys, and brewing in Knottingley stopped that same year.

The name didn’t disappear overnight, but the brewing itself did, and that was the turning point. What followed was less about beer and more about ownership on paper.

The slow disappearance

After the takeover, the brewery became part of a much larger chain. It moved through Bentleys, then into Whitbread, then Interbrew, and eventually into AB InBev. That corporate path explains why the local identity faded, as the brand was absorbed into something much bigger.

By 1965, the Hill Top site was sold off, and not long after it was demolished and replaced with housing. At that point, the physical brewery disappeared completely, leaving only records and fragments of the story behind.

Where that leaves it now

So what’s left today is not a building or a working brewery, but something just as interesting. There’s a clear founding story, named people, production figures, tied houses, and even a registered trademark with a strong visual identity. That’s more than most modern breweries ever start with, and it gives the whole idea a different weight.

The idea that won’t go away

This is the part I keep coming back to. There’s a difference between inventing a brand and picking up a dropped one. Carters isn’t made up; it existed, it brewed, and it mattered locally. Bringing it back would not be about pretending nothing changed, but about continuing the story in a way that feels honest.

If it ever did return, it would need to stay grounded. Yorkshire first, a clear link back to Knottingley, a modern take on the Talbot symbol, and no overblown claims about heritage. Just a straight line from then to now, with a long pause in the middle.

Where this goes next

For now, this stays as a working note. A place to collect dates, names, ideas, and the odd bit of inspiration as it comes along. It might grow into something more practical over time, or it might simply remain a record of a brewery that used to exist and still probably should.

Either way, it’s not going anywhere now I’ve found it.

 




 

Carling Black Label UK Review

So here I am, currently sat in Spain, in the sun, drinking a proper Spanish lager … and my mind has wandered back to a recent beer review I did in the UK.

I’m not sure you can call the return of Carling Black Label to the UK the most anticipated launch of the year … but it’s definitely stirred things up.

Molson Coors have brought it back alongside their standard Carling, and opinion seems split right down the middle. No middle ground. People either shrug at it… or take a swing.

Let’s be honest. Regular Carling at 4% ABV has never been a world-beater. It’s cheap, consistent, and on the right day, usually stood next to a BBQ, it does a job. Crisp, easy, and gone before you’ve really thought about it.

I’ve never exactly been its biggest fan. I had it down at 4 out of 10 at one point. I even preferred the Aldi version, Carters, which tells its own story.

So when Carling Black Label landed at 4.7% ABV, I was curious more than excited.

And to be fair … it is a step up.

It’s got a bit more about it. Slightly maltier. A touch more hop character. The extra strength gives it a fuller mouthfeel, and it doesn’t disappear quite as quickly as the standard version. It feels like it’s trying to be taken a bit more seriously.

Just to be clear, this isn’t the 5.5% South African version, which has a bit of a following. This UK one sits lower and feels more like a tweaked Carling than a full reinvention.

That probably explains the reaction. If you already don’t like Carling, this won’t win you over. But if you’re happy with a no-nonsense lager and just want a bit more body and flavour, this gets closer.

Here’s my full review if you want to see it properly poured and talked through:

Watch the video review

It’s not going to change the beer world. But it’s better than I expected… and that’s probably enough.

Give it a go. You might be pleasantly surprised.

One last thing. You’ll see people saying this is just Madri in a different coat. I’ve done a side-by-side comparison … and it isn’t.

Private London: A Good Read, I Just Expected More

Private London by James Patterson and Mark Pearson is another entry in the ever-growing Private series, and once again the short, punchy chapters keep the pace moving quickly.

I enjoyed the story overall, but this one felt a little uneven compared to the others I’ve read so far.

It actually started very strongly, then seemed to take a bit of a nosedive before a decent plot twist in the middle pulled me back in again.

By around the two-thirds mark I’d pretty much worked out what had happened, which spoiled some of the tension towards the end.

One thing that also stood out was some of the "high-tech" elements in the story. The book is around 14 years old now, and some of the technology that once felt futuristic now feels a little dated.

That said, it’s still a decent, easy-to-read thriller and another solid holiday read. Just not quite as gripping as the other books in the series that I’ve picked up so far.

Score: 7/10

 

Others in the Private series I have read and reviewed:

#1 Private
#2 Private London
#22 Private Dublin

We’re Claiming Compensation for Sun Loungers Now?

Just read this on the BBC News and honestly… I had to comment.

BBC News - German tourist wins payout after losing sun lounger race

A German tourist has won compensation after repeatedly failing to get a sun lounger during a family holiday.

The man reportedly paid £6,211 for an all-inclusive holiday in Spain, but found that other guests were reserving loungers early in the morning, leaving his family without places together around the pool.

A court awarded compensation of £852.89 after ruling that the hotel failed to provide the expected holiday experience.

I honestly think I’ve heard it all now.

Now before anyone jumps in… I do actually understand the frustration. If I’d paid more than £6,000 for a family holiday, I’d probably expect to be able to sit around the pool together too.

But there are a few things in this story that I’d genuinely like to understand.

First of all, did the guests complain to the hotel or tour operator at the time? Surely you have to give somebody the chance to put things right before taking legal action afterwards.

Secondly… were they also not up early trying to get loungers?

Because let’s be honest, nobody discovers "the great sun lounger race" by accident. If you know towels are going down at 7am, chances are you’ve been down there at 7am yourself at least once.

And another thing… were there actually no loungers available at all, or just none together?

Because those are two very different complaints.

Anyone who has stayed at a busy family hotel abroad knows the drill. You either get down early, accept sitting separately, or spend half your holiday glaring at people who have "reserved" loungers with a paperback and a single flip-flop.

I just wonder where this sort of thing ends.

Can people now claim because the lifts broke and they had to use the stairs? Been there, done that.

Or because it rained for two days during a beach holiday? Been there too.

What about exchange rates moving against you while you’re away, so everything suddenly costs more than expected?

Or because the "sea view" involved leaning over the balcony, squinting between two palm trees, and technically spotting a blue line in the distance?

Or because the hotel buffet chips were somehow both undercooked and cold?

Or because the evening entertainment was a man with a keyboard murdering ABBA songs while dressed like a cruise ship magician?

At some point holidays stop being holidays and start becoming consumer disputes with swimming pools attached.

Don’t get me wrong, hotels should absolutely provide what they advertise, and some hotels genuinely do a terrible job managing lounger shortages. But part of me feels that modern holiday culture has become obsessed with compensation.

Sometimes things just go wrong.

Sometimes the pool is busy.

Sometimes you end up three floors up because the lift is broken.

And sometimes somebody called Klaus has put a towel on six loungers before sunrise and vanished until lunchtime.

That’s not a legal case… that’s just being on holiday.

H10 Salou Princess Review

Stayed: 2–9 May 2026
Room type: Half Board, double room with twin beds
Overall score: 8/10

We stayed at the H10 Salou Princess in Salou (Spain) from 2–9 May 2026, in one of their double rooms with twin beds. There were no double bed rooms available for our stay.

From the moment we stepped into the lobby, the hotel had a more grown-up feel to it, which we liked straight away.

This stay also felt a little different for us, as we are starting to look at areas in Spain for retirement. Salou, or the surrounding area, may well end up on our shortlist.

The room was a typical size for this kind of hotel, with a TV, air conditioning, fridge, safe box at €3 per day, free WiFi, and a balcony. The bathroom had a bath with shower over it.

Our room looked out over the front of the hotel onto a busy main road. The road starts to get busy from around 7:30am, and traffic noise is only  slightly noticeable during the day, but we did not think it was too bad at all.

Accommodation

The room was clean and well appointed. It was a typical size for this type of stay, and nothing felt old or worn out.

Everything worked as it should, and the room felt properly maintained throughout our stay.

It would have been nice to have a couple more power sockets. We had three, which was fine, but there were no USB charging points, so bring plug-in USB chargers or a power supply. First world problems, I know.

Pools and facilities

There is one large main pool with a kids pool next to it, and plenty of loungers around the pool area.

The pool was clean, and the lifeguards were attentive. Towels were available from reception for a small refundable deposit.

They also have four Balinese beds, also known as Bali beds. We used them on three of the days we stayed, at €25 per day.

They added a lovely touch of luxury around the pool, and as it was my wife’s birthday, it felt like a nice treat for her too; plus up by the top beds (#3 and #4), it tended to be very quiet.

Food and drink

The more grown-up feel carried through into the dining area. It was well laid out and served buffet-style food, but the whole experience felt calmer and more relaxed.

Breakfast was a typical mix for this kind of European hotel, with both English and Continental options.

There was fresh fruit, sausage, eggs, bacon, beans, mushrooms, yoghurt, pastries, cereals, cold meats, cheese, and a surprisingly good choice of alternative milks, including plant, oat, and almond milk.

Hot drinks and fruit juices were included at breakfast.

Dinner had the usual mix of soup, pasta, salads, fish and meat dishes, fried food, chips and wedges, plus a show cooking area.

Drinks were not included with dinner. We stuck to the 1 litre bottles of filtered water at €2, which was enough for the two of us.

This is where the different clientele at this hotel showed. Lots of people were drinking water, soft drinks, or wine. It was not families downing pints of cheap Spanish lager.

Sweet treats were always available, including ice cream, small cakes, puddings, and fresh fruit.

As a vegetarian, I did find the choice a bit limited. There was always something to eat, but it was not always especially interesting. Salads and pasta are fine, but over a longer stay it would become repetitive.

Surely it cannot be too difficult to put on a couple of proper vegetarian dishes, such as curry, lasagne (strangely a day after putting this review live, a lovely vegetarian lasagne was available!), or something similar.

My carnivore wife liked the food and the surroundings so much that we ended up going Full Board for the last four days.

BTW, if you want to upgrade from Half Board to Full Board, do it officially at Reception rather than paying for the extra lunches in the restaurant, it was a much cheaper way to do it).

Because the dining experience felt more formal, there were no overloaded plates and very little waste to be seen. Overall, it was a decent dining experience, apart from the lack of vegetarian options.

Busy times for the restaurant:

Breakfast busiest after 9:30
Lunch wasn't particularly busy at all
Dinner busiest after 20:30

Staff and service

As you would expect in a good hotel today, the staff were friendly and helpful throughout our stay.

In the restaurant, the waiting staff were attentive, and we were always seated very quickly. Plates were cleared fast, and the service felt well organised.

Atmosphere

The atmosphere was quiet and chilled.

It seemed to attract a slightly older clientele, which gave the hotel a more relaxed and informal feel. That suited us perfectly.

Other facilities

I think the hotel wristbands are new for 2026. They act as your room key, but you can also add money to them and use them for payment around the hotel.

The hotel seemed to have live entertainment most nights, including local bands and tribute acts.

The Legends Sports Bar reminded me of a mix between an old, dark English pub and an Irish pub. It was cosy, with dark beers and Spanish beers available.

If it is still on, the Bock Damm Negra Munich is a gorgeous beer. Voll-Damm is also a lovely beer.

There was also a small café by the pool for quick bites, opening from 12:30. It served things like chips, hot dogs, pizza, soft drinks, and alcoholic drinks.

There is apparently a sauna and gym in the hotel, but we did not use them.

Top tip: when we were there, the top terrace, past the first two Bali beds and up the steps, was nice and quiet.

The Verdict

H10 Salou Princess is a clean, friendly, and well-located hotel with a slightly older clientele and a relaxed feel.

It felt more grown-up than some of the family-heavy hotels in Salou, and that made a big difference to the stay.

The room was clean, the staff were excellent, the pool area was pleasant, and the food was good overall.

The main downside for me was the limited vegetarian choice. It was not terrible, but it could be much better with just a bit more thought.

Overall, this was a really enjoyable stay, and it is definitely somewhere we would consider returning to.

Scores

Accommodation: 8/10
Location: 9/10
Food and drink: 7/10
Staff: 9/10
Atmosphere: 8/10

Overall score: 8/10

A clean, friendly, well-located hotel with a more grown-up feel. Relaxed, informal, and a very good base for a stay in Salou.

A Move to Spain!

We are actually considering a move to Spain, follow our journey here.

Private: A Fast-Paced Start to the Series

I’ve just finished Private, the first book in the series, while away on another break in Spain. I tend to only read fiction when I’m on holiday, and this time I brought this and Private London with me.

Written by James Patterson and Maxine Paetro, this feels like a strong introduction to the Private series. It’s a fast-paced crime thriller and another real page turner.

Set in Los Angeles, the story feels very cinematic. I’ve never actually been to LA, but it all felt clearly laid out, almost like watching it unfold on screen.

What stood out most was the way multiple storylines move along at a quick pace. The authors trust the reader to keep up, which keeps things engaging without over-explaining.

That said, the plots aren’t especially deep or complex. But I’m on holiday, and this is exactly what I want. An easy, exciting read that keeps the tension moving and tightens nicely towards the end.

Another Patterson book that I couldn’t put down until I’d finished it.

Score: 9/10

Others in the Private series I have read and reviewed:

#1 Private
#2 Private London
#22 Private Dublin

Antisemitism and the Semitic Confusion

This note comes off the back of an online discussion I had with someone who believed antisemitism means racism against any “Semitic” people; I would have thought that a grow man would have understood the difference, but you live and learn I suppose.

I spent time explaining that “Semitic”, originally coined in the late 18th century originally refers to a group of languages, including Hebrew and Arabic. It was (and still is) a linguistic label, not a race or a single group of people.

“Antisemitism” came later, in 19th-century Europe. This term was used specifically to describe hostility towards Jewish people. From the start, it was used in that narrow sense, and that meaning has stuck.

So while the words share a similar root, they don’t line up in meaning.

You can criticise countries, governments, or policies without it being antisemitic. The line is crossed when it targets Jewish people as a whole or leans on old stereotypes.

This is one of those cases where knowing the history of a word clears up a lot of confusion.

I'm on Holiday ... but I'm not!

I used to find it really difficult to switch off from work when I was on holiday.

In fact, I got to loathe the idea of a “holiday” because it often became another way of saying I was working from a different chair, or a different country, I would respond to emails and messages no matter where I was, what I was doing, or who I was with. Even when I was on holiday with my children, work still found a way in.

But over the last couple of years, something in me has changed; here I am now, waiting for a flight to Spain with my wife, and work could not be further from my mind.

And honestly, it feels brilliant.Want to know how I flicked that switch?

1. I’m gone

As my holiday gets closer, I let people in the business and key suppliers know I’ll be away.

Not half away. Not “still checking emails” away. Properly away.

I’m on holiday, and I’m gone. Period.

I think giving people clear notice before you leave is a great form of professional respect. Everyone knows where they stand, and nobody is left guessing. And you can start to get support to get some major projects closer to a answer before you leave.

2. The handoff

I hate the soft handoff with a passion; you know the one: “I'm going away, but you can contact me if it’s an absolute emergency.”

It's a statement that sounds helpful, but it keeps the door open; and once the door is open, work starts to creep in, and lots of things become an emergancy and need your attention ... but you allowed it.

So now what I do is I assign clear owners to every active project and/or task before I go away. Everyone in the business knows what is happening, who is responsible, and what needs to move forward.

More importantly, they know I trust them to make decisions while I’m not there, and I have some decent processes in place with plenty of checks and balanced.

My goal is to return to projects that have moved on, not a pile of “waiting for your approval” emails.

To be honest, I’m not that important anyway. I only thought I was 😀

3. Become a digital loner

I never used to mute work notifications; then I started muting them, but that still meant I could check them whenever I wanted. And of course, I did.

Now I go further, and II now delete key 'work' apps from my phone while I’m away, Outlook, Teams, and the softphone app, they all go, so I physically can't be interrupted, or be tempted to take a look. I can always easily reinstall them when I get back anyway. 

If I’m not looking at work messaging apps, I’m not thinking about work problems. It sounds a bit extreme, but the psychological weight that lifts is pure bliss. 

4. Buffer day(s)

I used to get back home after a holiday and go straight back to work the next day. In fact, once we got back early in the morning during the week, and by the afternoon I had logged back on. 

Now I make sure I have at least one full buffer day, preferably two. This gives me time to acclimatise and get back into a normal daily rhythm before I get cracking with work again. 

During these buffer days, I do not reinstall apps. I still count them as holiday days… because they are!

 

These four things alone have made my breaks calmer, cleaner, and far more peaceful.

And to be honest, they are usually well overdue.

Herbert Henry Scaife

Herbert Henry Scaife was my paternal great grandad.

He was Private 205681, 2/4th Battalion, King’s Own Yorkshire Light Infantry, part of 187th Brigade in the 62nd (2nd West Riding) Division. He was born in Snaith in 1886, enlisted at Knottingley, and was killed in action on 27 November 1917 during the Battle of Cambrai.

He had no known grave. His name is commemorated on Panel 8 of the Cambrai Memorial at Louverval, Nord, France.

I never knew him, of course. But I am proud of him. To me, he was a hero.

There is another thought I keep coming back to with my great grandad. Herbert had a son before he went to war. My grandad, Austin William Scaife, was born in 1913.

If the timing had been different, even by a couple of years, I would not be here writing this.

That is always a strange thought to sit with. 

Before France

Herbert had previously served with the Durham Light Infantry. His earlier numbers are recorded as 59279 and Private 96547, before he became Private 205681 with the King’s Own Yorkshire Light Infantry.

His medal card shows that he entered a theatre of war in France on 17 September 1915. That means he was already in the Army, trained, and overseas before conscription was introduced in 1916.

That changes the story slightly. Herbert was not simply pulled into the Army by later conscription. The records suggest he was an early volunteer, most likely joining during 1915.

Like many First World War soldiers, Herbert held more than one service number during his time in the Army. Numbers were issued by individual regiments and often changed when a man was transferred, reclassified, or moved between battalions.

His Durham Light Infantry numbers suggest he may have enlisted in spring or early summer 1915. The 17 September 1915 theatre date also suggests he may have served first with one of the Durham Light Infantry’s New Army battalions, possibly the 9th Battalion. This is not confirmed, but the timing fits the known movement of Durham Light Infantry units to France in 1915.

Why did Herbert go to war?

I sometimes wonder what drove him to sign up.

It is easy to think of it as simple national pride, but it was rarely that straightforward. For men like Herbert, it was often a mix of duty, pressure, family responsibility, and the feeling that ordinary men were expected to do their bit.

Britain did not have full conscription at the start of the war. Men volunteered in 1914 and 1915. Conscription came later, through the Military Service Act of 1916, when single men were called first, then married men were included soon after.

Herbert was born in 1886, so he was 28 when war broke out in 1914. He was also a father by then. Austin had been born the year before.

That changes how I think about him.

He was not some unattached young lad chasing adventure. He was a man with a child. He had already built part of his life before the war took him away from it.

We may never know exactly what he felt when he left. Duty, pressure, fear, pride, resignation, all of them may have played a part. There were no newsreels in every home and no social media. Most people received the war through newspapers, official messages, posters, rumours, and conversations in the street.

The message around him may well have been that Britain was doing its duty, that the war had to be fought, and that men were expected to go. He may even have believed that by the time his training was over, the war would be close to ending.

Unfortunately, that was not the case.

1915: Training and first service with the Durham Light Infantry

Because Herbert was in France by 17 September 1915, his early training must have taken place before then.

His training would have involved route marches with full kit, rifle practice, bayonet drill, trench digging, night exercises, gas drill, and repeated inspections. At this time Herbert has the service number 59279.

The men had to learn how to move as a unit, obey orders quickly, and keep going when tired, wet, cold, and hungry.

This was not glamorous training. It was marching, drilling, digging, cleaning equipment, waiting for orders, and doing it all again the next day.

By September 1915, Herbert was no longer training in Britain. He was in France.

17 September 1915: France

Herbert’s medal card records his qualifying date as 17 September 1915, with France as the theatre of war.

That date does not tell us exactly where he was standing on that day, but it does tell us that he had crossed from Britain to the Western Front.

He would probably have travelled by rail to a south coast port, then crossed the Channel by troopship. After landing in France, soldiers were often moved inland by train, sometimes in French railway wagons marked “40 hommes / 8 chevaux”, meaning 40 men or 8 horses.

For Herbert, this was the point where the war stopped being training, speeches, posters, and kit inspections. It became real.

1915 to 1916: The Durham Light Infantry period

The exact Durham Light Infantry battalion Herbert served with has not yet been confirmed.

Research suggests he may have been with one of the Durham Light Infantry’s New Army battalions, possibly the 9th Battalion, because the timing of his arrival in France fits that scenario. I believe that around this time his service number changed to 96547.

If that is correct, Herbert would have experienced the Western Front long before he joined the 2/4th KOYLI.

Life at the front was usually built around rotation. A battalion would spend time in the front line, then support trenches, then reserve, then rest.

Rest rarely meant comfort. It often meant carrying supplies, cleaning kit, repairing roads, moving ammunition, and preparing to go back to the front line.

Research suggests Herbert may have lived through trench conditions in late 1915 and 1916: mud, lice, rats, cold meals, wet socks, shellfire, sentry duty, and the constant need to stay alert.

By the time he later served with the King’s Own Yorkshire Light Infantry, he was probably not new to war.

Transfer to the King’s Own Yorkshire Light Infantry

At some point before or during 1917, Herbert transferred from the Durham Light Infantry to the King’s Own Yorkshire Light Infantry.

This was common during the war. Men were moved where the Army needed them. Units took losses, drafts were sent forward, and soldiers were reallocated between regiments and battalions.

Herbert became Private 205681 in the 2/4th Battalion, King’s Own Yorkshire Light Infantry.

The 2/4th Battalion KOYLI was part of 187th Brigade in the 62nd (2nd West Riding) Division.

January 1917: The 2/4th KOYLI in France

The 2/4th KOYLI landed at Le Havre on 15 January 1917.

If Herbert was already in France with the Durham Light Infantry, he may have joined the battalion there rather than travelling with it from Britain. Without his full service record, that detail cannot yet be confirmed.

From January 1917, the 62nd Division concentrated in the Third Army area between the rivers Canche and Authie.

February to March 1917: The Ancre

The 62nd Division’s first listed fighting on the Western Front came during the operations on the Ancre, from 15 February to 13 March 1917.

This placed Herbert’s division in the hard, damaged country left by the Somme fighting. The men would have found broken trenches, shell holes, wire, mud, and villages reduced to ruins.

Herbert’s battalion was now learning, or relearning, the rhythm of front-line life within a new division.

March to April 1917: The German retreat to the Hindenburg Line

In March 1917, the German Army withdrew to the Hindenburg Line. The 62nd Division took part in the British advance that followed.

Herbert’s battalion would have moved through abandoned and destroyed ground. The German withdrawal left roads blocked, wells damaged, buildings ruined, and traps behind.

The British were advancing, but they were advancing into devastation.

This was not the old image of men sitting still in trenches. It was movement, patrols, uncertainty, and the constant risk of hidden machine guns or shellfire.

3 to 17 May 1917: Bullecourt

The 62nd Division fought at Bullecourt during the Second Battle of Bullecourt, from 3 to 17 May 1917.

Bullecourt was part of the wider Arras fighting. It was a grim and costly battle against German positions linked to the Hindenburg Line.

Herbert’s experience here would have included heavy shellfire, attacks over broken ground, damaged trenches, and the shock of seeing modern defensive fire at close range.

By this point, the battalion was no longer new to war.

Summer and Autumn 1917: Holding the line

After Bullecourt, the division remained on the Western Front. The months between major battles were still dangerous.

Herbert’s daily life may have included trench repair, wiring parties, sentry duty, ration carrying, lice, rats, cold meals, wet socks, and the constant need to stay alert.

Wiring parties repaired or added barbed wire entanglements, often at night, close to No Man’s Land.

Men “stood-to” at dawn and dusk, meaning they were on high alert with weapons ready, because those were common times for attacks.

Letters from home mattered. So did hot tea, dry socks, and a few hours of sleep. Small things became big things.

November 1917: Moving towards Cambrai

By November 1917, the 62nd Division was in the Havrincourt sector, south-west of Cambrai.

This area mattered because it sat in front of the Hindenburg Line. Cambrai itself was an important German supply centre, and the ground around Bourlon Ridge became one of the key objectives.

The 187th Brigade included the 2/4th KOYLI. Herbert was now moving towards the battle that would take his life.

20 November 1917: Havrincourt and the opening of Cambrai

The Battle of Cambrai began at about 6.30am on 20 November 1917.

The attack was unusual because it used tanks in large numbers. The British also used a predicted artillery barrage, a method where guns were aimed using calculations rather than a long registration bombardment. That helped preserve surprise.

The 62nd Division attacked near Havrincourt. The 187th Brigade advanced with the 2/5th KOYLI on the left and the 2/4th KOYLI on the right.

The 2/4th KOYLI attacked through the German defences around Havrincourt. The division pushed through the Hindenburg Line and helped take Havrincourt, then advanced towards Graincourt and the approaches to Bourlon Ridge.

For the men involved, this must have been a strange day. Tanks were moving ahead, artillery fire was crashing over the German line, and ground that had seemed impossible to cross was suddenly being taken.

But success came at a cost. The 2/4th KOYLI suffered heavy casualties on 20 November, with more than 200 killed, wounded, or missing.

21 November 1917: The advance slows

On 21 November, the early momentum began to fade.

The British had made a large gain, but they had not fully taken Bourlon Ridge. German resistance stiffened, and counter-attacks began around the newly captured ground.

Herbert’s battalion may have been involved in holding captured positions, reorganising after the first attack, moving supplies forward, and preparing for further action.

After a major attack, battalions rarely became neat and tidy again straight away. Men were missing, companies were mixed, officers had been hit, communications were in disarray, and nobody had eaten, rested, or slept properly.

22 November 1917: Towards Bourlon

By 22 November, fighting had developed around Fontaine, Anneux, and the approaches to Bourlon Wood.

The 62nd Division had advanced far, but it was now exposed. The German Army was recovering from the shock of the first day and bringing in reinforcements.

The men in this area would have faced shellfire, machine-gun fire, confused orders, and difficult movement over broken ground.

The battle was changing from a breakthrough into a hard fight to hold and extend the gains.

23 November 1917: Bourlon becomes the objective

On 23 November, the fighting increasingly centred on Bourlon Wood and Bourlon Ridge.

The 62nd Division had been heavily engaged since the opening day. Other units were brought into the fight, but the West Riding men had already helped open the way.

Herbert and the 2/4th KOYLI were likely still close to the Havrincourt, Graincourt, Anneux, and Bourlon area during this period.

The exact company-level position is not confirmed from the records I have seen so far.

24 to 26 November 1917: Waiting, holding, and moving under fire

The days between 24 and 26 November are difficult to place exactly without the battalion war diary page in front of me. It is something I would like to look at properly one day. But the wider battle gives us a strong sense of what was happening.

Herbert’s battalion was likely either holding captured ground, moving between support and forward positions, or preparing for renewed action around Bourlon.

These days may have been worse than the opening attack in some ways.

There was waiting. There was shelling. There was the strain of not knowing when orders would come. Men tried to sleep in trenches, dugouts, or shell holes. Rations and water had to be brought forward. Wounded men had to be carried back.

Late November in northern France was cold. Wet boots, mud, frost, tiredness, and fear would all have been part of the experience.

27 November 1917: Herbert’s death

Herbert Henry Scaife was killed in action on 27 November 1917.

By the 27th, the battalion had already been in action for a week.

War diary records for the division show continued fighting around Bourlon Wood and the nearby village. The ground was contested, and attacks were met with strong resistance.

Herbert was in or near the forward positions during this phase, likely somewhere between Anneux and Bourlon, where the fighting was at its most intense.

Casualties were heavy. Units were reduced in strength, and control was difficult to maintain once attacks began.

It was during this fighting that Herbert was killed.

He has no known grave.

That usually means a man’s body was not recovered, could not be identified, or was lost as the battlefield changed hands. It is one of the cruellest parts of this story. His family had a date, a regiment, and a memorial panel, but no grave to stand beside.

Timeline

1886: Herbert Henry Scaife is born in Snaith.

1913: His son, Austin William Scaife, is born.

August 1914: The First World War begins. Herbert is around 28 years old and already a father.

Spring to early summer 1915: Herbert likely enlists in the Durham Light Infantry. This date is estimated from his service number and the fact that he was already in France by September 1915.

17 September 1915: Herbert enters a theatre of war in France with the Durham Light Infantry.

1915 to 1916: Herbert serves with the Durham Light Infantry. His exact battalion is not yet confirmed, but the timing suggests a New Army battalion, possibly the 9th DLI.

Late 1916 or early 1917: Herbert is transferred to the King’s Own Yorkshire Light Infantry as men are redistributed across the Army.

Early 1917: Herbert is recorded as Private 205681 with the 2/4th Battalion, King’s Own Yorkshire Light Infantry.

15 January 1917: The 2/4th KOYLI lands at Le Havre. If Herbert was already in France, he may have joined the battalion there.

15 February to 13 March 1917: The 62nd Division takes part in operations on the Ancre.

March to April 1917: The division advances during the German retreat to the Hindenburg Line.

3 to 17 May 1917: The division fights at Bullecourt during the Arras fighting.

Summer to autumn 1917: Herbert serves through the routine dangers of the Western Front. Exact battalion positions need the full war diary.

November 1917: The 62nd Division moves into the Havrincourt sector, south-west of Cambrai.

20 November 1917: The Battle of Cambrai begins. The 2/4th KOYLI attacks on the right of 187th Brigade near Havrincourt.

21 to 26 November 1917: Research suggests the battalion remains in the Cambrai battle area as British forces push towards Bourlon Ridge and fight to hold captured ground.

27 November 1917: Herbert is killed in action during the Cambrai fighting, most likely connected with the fighting around Bourlon Wood and Bourlon village.

Command

The 2/4th KOYLI was part of 187th Brigade, 62nd (2nd West Riding) Division.

The battalion commander during the Cambrai fighting is recorded as Lieutenant-Colonel R. E. Power.

The 62nd Division was commanded by Major-General Sir Walter Braithwaite.

Medals

Herbert’s medal card shows that he entered a theatre of war on 17 September 1915. That means he qualified for the 1914–15 Star.

He would also have been entitled to the British War Medal and the Victory Medal.

Together, these three medals were sometimes known as Pip, Squeak, and Wilfred.

All unfortunately lost or misplaced, but the memory of Herbert hasn't gone. 

Why I’m here

I keep coming back to my grandad, Austin William Scaife.

He was born in 1913, before Herbert went to war. If Herbert had gonea nd joined the army earlier, or if life had unfolded in a slightly different order, Austin may never have been born.

And if Austin had not been born, I would not be here.

That makes this story feel very close.

It is not just military history. It is family history. It is the thin thread that connects a man born in Snaith in 1886 to me, sitting here more than a century later, trying to understand where he went and what happened to him.

Remembering Herbert

It is hard to write about someone you never met and still feel close to them.

But I do.

Herbert Henry Scaife was not just a name, a number, or a line on a memorial. He was a man born in Snaith who lived and enlisted in Knottingley, trained for war, crossed to France, endured the trenches, fought at Cambrai, and never came home.

His name is at Louverval because his body was never found. That feels unbearably sad, but it also means his name stands with thousands of others who gave everything and were not brought back.

I am proud of him.

I never knew him, but I know enough.




 

ASAP … is that really what you want?

I really struggle with the term “ASAP”.

People use it all the time in (so called) professional environments, but it does not tell me anything useful. It sounds urgent, but it gives me no clear direction on your timescales and I end up guessing what you mean, and that might mean that I miss your deadline.

If you work with me, it is worth knowing this. The term winds me up so much, mainly because most of the time it is being used to mean something else.

The issue is simple. “ASAP” stands for “as soon as possible”, which really means I will get to it when my current workload allows. If I am fully booked until Thursday, then Friday morning is the earliest I can realistically do it.

That is not me being awkward. That is just how time works.

The problem is that most people do not use it that way. When someone writes “ASAP”, what they usually mean is “I need this now”. They are trying to show urgency, but they are doing it without giving a proper deadline, proper instructions.

That is where it falls apart.

If you want something done quickly, you need to be clear about when you need it. Without that, I have to make a judgement call. I have to weigh it up against everything else I am doing, and I might get that call wrong.

There is also a knock-on effect. If something genuinely urgent comes in after your request, it will take priority. Your task then moves back, because it was never tied to a clear time in the first place.

So the word meant to speed things up can actually slow them down.

There is a straightforward fix.

Say what you mean.

If you need something by a certain time, write the time. If it is urgent, say how urgent it is in a way that I can act on.

“Send me those files ASAP” becomes “Send me those files by 4pm today.”

“I need a reply ASAP” becomes “Please reply by midday tomorrow so I can finish this.”

“ASAP please” becomes “This is high priority. Can you do this in the next two hours?”

Now I know where it fits. I can plan properly, and you are more likely to get what you need.

If you really do mean “whenever you can fit it in”, then fine, say “ASAP”. Just be aware that it might not be today, or even this week.

If there is a deadline, say it.

Being clear is not a small thing. It shows respect for other people’s time, it removes guesswork, and it keeps work moving.

“ASAP” is not clear. It is vague, and vague is where problems start.

You can also read about why I hate deadlines

Does AI Think We’re As Dumb As We Act?

We’re in the middle of a proper digital shift. The kind where AI is being lined up to crack genetics, sort climate problems, and push science forward in ways we’ve never seen.

And yet, at the same time, people are asking it how to eat an apple.

I wish that was an exaggeration. It isn’t. I came across someone asking a chatbot for “instructions on eating an apple properly”, and it stopped me for a second. Not because it’s funny, but because it says something weird about us.

We’ve built something incredibly powerful, arguably the most impressive computer "brain" we’ve ever created, and we’re using it to skip over the basics of being human. The small stuff we used to just figure out. Buying a present for a six-year-old. Making toast under a grill. Matching socks.

They are decisions or questions that aren't particularly difficult. None of it ever needed improving.

But now it’s easier to ask than to think, so we ask, and we stop thinking.

You do start to wonder what’s going on behind that blinking cursor. While engineers are stress-testing logic and capability, the system is quietly working through questions about egg boiling and jumper washing. If it had awareness, you’d imagine it raising an eyebrow.

It doesn’t need to take over. It just needs to wait.

Because the real test isn’t what AI can do. It’s what happens when it isn’t there. The moment the Wi-Fi drops, and you’re stood in front of a toaster or a birthday card with no prompt, no shortcut, no answer ... that’s when things get interesting.

We like to think we’re becoming more efficient. Smarter, even.

But I've just realised that there’s a fine line between efficiency and dependency, and it feels like we’re edging closer to it without really noticing.

Next time you’re about to ask AI something simple, something you already half know the answer to, it’s probably worth pausing.

Not out of principle. Just to prove you still can.

Everything Was Already Here

It’s a strange thought when you sit with it for a minute and let your mind delve into it, that nothing around you is really “new”.

Every object you can see, your phone, your desk, the road outside, even the food you eat, all comes from the same limited set of elements that have always been here. We haven’t invented new matter. We’ve just got very good at rearranging what already exists.

Steel isn’t new. It’s iron, carbon, heat, and process.
Plastic isn’t new. It’s oil, broken down and rebuilt.
Glass is just sand that’s been pushed to its limits.

Even the complicated stuff, electronics, medicines, fuels, it all traces back to the same building blocks. And when you think about it, we’ve just become really good at using these elements.

I've never too sure whether this concept is reassuring or a worry!

All the progress, all the industries, all the things we take pride in as “made by us”, are really just clever transformations. We take what the planet gives us, and we reshape it into something useful, or sometimes something pointless. But as we use all this stuff, does it mean that at sometime we might run out fo something vital!

It does make you look at waste differently as well.

If everything we use is part of a closed system, then nothing really disappears. It just changes form and ends up somewhere else. Landfill isn’t “away”. It’s just a different version of the same materials, sitting in a different place.

I Do Not Owe My Future Self an Apology

Not sure if you would class this as an epiphany or just an interesting thought.

I’ve just updated my profile on nownownow.com, and one of the questions was something like, “Have I had a recent epiphany?”

For no special reason, the thought struck me that I do not owe my future self an apology for who I am today.

I think the life I have led, and the life I lead today, is a good one. My current level of knowledge is very good, and my current emotional capacity is also strong. My daughters are doing well, I have a beautiful wife, and I’m heading into the near future with retirement (and the freedom that brings) starting to feel real.

If I spend my life trying to become someone my “future self” won’t be ashamed of, I risk living a life that isn’t mine.

Perhaps that is the real epiphany.

I suppose, like could do today with my past self, my future self will look back and realise that every “mistake” or “flaw” I have today was actually a necessary stepping stone.

I don’t owe an apology for being what is effectively a work in progress. That’s just called being alive.

Ode to the Sherbet Lemon

The humble sherbet lemon. I’m not sure there are many better sweets out there.

You’ve got that lovely, long-lasting hard outer shell. Then, just as you settle into that flavour, the shell thins or cracks, and you hit that zesty sherbet fizz. It’s an instant shift from calm to chaos, and it keeps your taste buds interested.

That reaction, when the fizz hits your tongue, feels like a tiny party going off in your mouth.

They’re never too sweet, which makes them dangerously moreish. Worth keeping in mind they’re around 20–25 kcal each.

Per sweet:

  • Calories: 20–25 kcal
  • Carbohydrates: 5–6g
  • Sugars: 4–5g
  • Fat: 0g
  • Protein: 0g

They also work brilliantly as a palate cleanser, and you’ve got the citrus base to thank for that.

There’s something genuinely interesting about them. Proper nostalgic too. I spent plenty of time in sweet shops in the 70s, and these always stood out.

I’m struggling to think of a better sweet. I was fond of a Fizz Bomb back in the day… but that’s one for another post.


 

The Doll at Platform Five (Mild Horror)

You get used to seeing the same things on the morning train. Same faces, same conversations, same bloke spilling coffee on his tie before we’ve even left the platform. But that morning, something different caught my eye, and my nose.

There was this faint smell in the carriage, like smoke, or maybe burnt dust off a radiator. It was difficult to place. It wasn’t like the typical smoke you get from a fire. It just seemed unusual. Nobody else seemed to notice. A woman across from me was laughing into her phone, and the fella next to her was hammering his keyboard like it owed him money.

I sniffed again. It was there, all right. Acrid, but oddly old, not the clean, chemical kind of smoke you get nowadays. Something heavier, like coal or charred cloth. Then, just as quick as it came, it was gone.

I couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary, and no-one else seemed concerned, so I just put it down to one of those things.

As the train slowed into the station, I glanced past my reflection and up at the big glass hotel that sits just beyond the tracks. In one of the second-floor windows stood what looked like a child-sized doll. Pale face, expressionless, perhaps a little sad. It was dressed in old-fashioned clothes, Victorian, I guessed. Its head was forward, but looking over me and the carriage I was in. It seemed to be looking out across the city.

It was the sort of doll that definitely belonged in a museum, not a hotel. It was so out of place, but I couldn’t stop staring. I couldn’t help wondering why someone would take something like that to a hotel. By the time the train stopped and I stepped onto the platform, I looked up again. The doll was gone.

Next morning, there it was again. Same window, same doll, motionless. Nobody else seemed to notice. Too busy scrolling through newsfeeds and emails to look out of the window.

Then suddenly something inside me dipped, like stepping off a kerb you didn’t see. My pulse thudded in my ears, and there was that whiff of smoke again, curling at the back of my throat, dry and unpleasant.

It stuck in my head all morning. Over lunch, I started poking about online. The hotel’s website was all brick, glass, and chrome, all “boutique luxury” and “city views”. I wanted to see what had stood there before. A few clicks later, on one of those old map archives, I found it. The Slate Wharfe Workhouse, right by the old cut of the Wharfe, just south of the railway lines.

A miserable place, by the sounds of it. I found a grainy photograph. It looked miserable too. Soot-blackened brick, barred windows, smokestacks in the distance. Then I came across a snippet from a 1908 newspaper: “Fire at Slate Wharfe Workhouse. Many Saved by Workhouse Labourer.”

The article was short. They thought the blaze started in the laundry. Most of the children were dragged out by a labourer who went back inside again and again until the roof came down. The report said he’d tried to reach the last child, a girl seen trapped at an upstairs window, banging at the barred window as the flames took hold. Her body was never recovered.

That night, I dreamed of heat and smoke, and child’s hands pressing at the windows.

Next morning, I made sure to sit by the window in the carriage again. As we slowed past the hotel, there she was again, the doll, staring out. I lifted my phone and took a picture. When I looked at it later, I felt something cold tighten in my chest.

The doll was there, yes… but behind it, faint in the reflection of the glass, was the outline of a man. His face was partly lost in the glare, yet the shape of it, the hair, the eyes, the jaw, it looked horribly familiar.

It looked like me.

I don’t know what to make of it. But sometimes, when the train brakes before the platform and the air smells faintly of hot metal, I catch that old taste of smoke in my mouth… and once, I swear, I coughed up a fleck of soot.

And this morning, as I sat there trying not to look at the window, my phone buzzed with a new photo, no message, no sender.

It was my photo of the doll.

Only this time, its head had turned… and it was looking straight at me.

An original short story by Andrew Scaife
© Andrew Scaife, 2026. All rights reserved. 

The End of the Invisible Audience

For years, almost 35 years, every time I sat down to write, I wasn't alone. The room was crowded with invisible people: the boss who was vertually dictating what I should write, the client who might get offended with the wrong word or phrase, the prospect I didn't want to scare off, and the Google (and all the social platforms) algorithm that demanded its pound of flesh in optimised keywords and the right hashtags.

I spent more time thinking about the consequences of virtually every single word and sentence than the point of writing it sometimes. Everything had to be sanitised, perfectly structured, and professional to a fault. It was usually writing by committee, even when the committee was just in my head.

Fuck that.

One of the biggest realisations in moving to this "Anti-Social" setup is how much energy I was wasting on people who don't actually exist. This isn't a marketing asset anymore. It’s not a lead-generation tool. It’s just a digital garden. It's me saying what I want to say, in the way I want to say it.

Stripping away the structured copy, certain posts or content having to be a particular length, the SEO, the Meta tags, thinking about imagery and the copywriters templates has given me something I’d forgotten I needed: the freedom to just write what I want. If a post is too short, fine. If it’s too blunt, even better. If it upsets someone who was looking for a "polished brand experience," they’re in the wrong place anyway.

From here on out, the only "audience" I’m writing for is myself. If you find something here that resonates, great, pull up a chair. But I’m done performing for the algorithm. I’m just going to say it as it is and let the chips fall where they may.

It’s liberating to finally stop caring.

Can We Get People Voting Again?

So, I'm standing as a Liberal Democrat paper candidate this May in Horbury and South Ossett. I’ve been looking back at previous election results, and what I found really surprised me. When the final votes are counted in local elections, the numbers often tell a heartbreaking story. It isn’t just about which party wins or loses; it’s the fact that, so often, only about a third of our community shows up. That means nearly two-thirds of our neighbours effectively have no say in how their local area is run.

Since I uncovered this last week, I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about that silent majority. I refuse to believe that the people who stay home don’t care. I know they care. They care about the state of our roads and pavements, bin collections, fly-tipping, the quality of our children’s education, and the dignity of social care for our elderly. Talking to people about this, there is a very strong view that politics is just something that happens to us, rather than something we can actually shape.

Local Politics Isn’t Broken ... It’s Waiting for You

I hear it all the time: "Why bother? My vote can't influence anything!" But that’s just not true. From transport and infrastructure to the very heart of our local economy, local authorities decide how millions of pounds of our money is spent. When we don't vote, we aren't "protesting", we are simply handing over a blank cheque to someone else to make those decisions for us.

Let’s just address this very dangerous myth that one vote doesn’t matter. In local elections, margins are often razor-thin. A single vote really does have the power to make a huge difference. If we take Horbury and South Ossett as an example, in the 2021 local elections, there were only 45 votes between the winner and second place! That is a handful of households. That is one street of people deciding the future for everyone else.

The Candidate Problem

Looking at the local landscape again, Labour has held control here since 2021, yet I don’t see their candidates out there promoting their achievements (perhaps because there aren't many) or even their party’s policies. To me, that’s scary. Right now in Westminster, the Labour Party and Keir Starmer are in hot water over the Peter Mandelson situation, and by staying silent locally, they are risking a knee-jerk reaction from our community. I’m personally worried that if people feel ignored by the left, they might end up looking too far to the right out of sheer frustration.

Candidates need to provide clear information because it pushes the local agenda and boosts turnout significantly. We don't need more "politics-as-usual"; people need a reason to believe their voice actually counts.

I am standing because I want to lower the barrier between the "political elite" and the real world. I want to show that local government isn't just some "minority interest" for people in suits; it is the direct engine room of our quality of life and our local spending power. This May, I'm hoping that the local electorate across the country don't let the silence decide their future.

Quick Microwave Protein Bread

I adore bread, but sometimes I know I need to cut down my consumption and eat something a bit healthier.

This is one of those handy little recipes that takes hardly any effort and gives you a quick, high-protein bread alternative in just a few minutes.

The basic idea works well, but if you find it tastes a little too eggy, a few small tweaks can make it feel more like bread and less like a microwaved omelette.

Ingredients

  • 3 dessertspoons of oat bran
  • 1 dessertspoon of plain yogurt
  • 1 dessertspoon of milk
  • 1 egg
  • 1/2 teaspoon of baking powder
  • A small pinch of salt

Method

  1. Add all the ingredients to a mug, ramekin, or small microwave-safe bowl.
  2. Mix well until the batter is smooth.
  3. Microwave for 2 minutes to 2 minutes 30 seconds, until nicely set. I use a shallow microwave-safe dish so it cooks in a good 'slice' shape
  4. Leave it to stand for 1 to 2 minutes before turning it out. This helps it firm up and improves the texture.
  5. Slice if needed, then grill both sides until lightly browned.

Easy Ways To Improve The Flavour

  • Add a pinch of black pepper for a more savoury finish.
  • Try a little garlic powder or onion powder to mask any egginess.
  • A small sprinkle of grated cheese works well if you want more flavour

Approximate Nutrition Per Bread

  • Calories: around 130 to 140 kcal
  • Protein: around 10 to 11g
  • Carbohydrates: around 13 to 15g
  • Fat: around 6 to 7g
  • Fibre: around 2 to 3g

Nutrition is approximate and will vary depending on the yogurt, milk, and exact spoon sizes used.

Serving Idea

This works nicely as a quick breakfast bread, toasted sandwich base, or something to have alongside eggs, cottage cheese, or a bit of peanut butter if you want to push the protein up further. As a vegetarian, I like to have this bread with Quorn Sausages or grilled Quorn Fillets for a filling lunch.

The Decisive Moment

I took this photo of a clownfish at the Jewel of the Sea Aquarium in SeaWorld, Orlando, back in April 2011. Just as I hit the shutter, a regal tang swam into frame.

It was only later, when I looked back at the image, that it clicked. I’d unintentionally captured Marlin and Dory (yes of Finding Nemo fame) together.

People often talk about Henri Cartier-Bresson and his idea of “The Decisive Moment”... that split second where everything comes together and you press the shutter with intent.

This wasn’t that.

This was pure luck. And maybe that’s what makes it even better.

Original photo

Original photo by Andrew Scaife

Cleaned up by AI

Cleaned up by AI