Hello. I'm Chris. I'm a coach and writer. I help practically-minded do-ers, makers and thinkers find their place in the world. I also once went mad in my basement. Not face-smeared-in-faeces-mad, just low-grade, brooding, existential despair mad.
This irreverent audio blog is about rekindling your curiosity and creativity in life (the kind I lost beneath sawdust in my basement DIY). You'll find urban exploration and half-arsed philosophical musing here. I wander, walk and wonder what makes things tick. Occasionally there's wisdom, usually just throwaway rants and whimsy.
Join me, on a voyage into unchartered territory - pushing the boundaries of technology and communication, on a quest to add a text box and a button to my website. Bear witness as this human being, like many others before him, takes the problem way too seriously, overcomplicates things, and loses all perspective on the situation. Time for a bit of space, maybe?
Two little urchins at an inner city college are about to tear strips out of each other, until a wise, kindly, yet grossly under-trained classroom assistant steps in and does very little. Crisis averted? Let's find out. Maybe we can squeeze something insightful out of this...
The last thing we need from lockdown is more podcasts by middle-aged white men; said some plonker on the Twitters I've never met, yet whose opinion I decided to heed. Isn't it funny how we let off-hand remarks like this (regardless of who made them) influence the course of our lives? That's the story behind this short public rebuttal. Yes, they're probably correct, but why do we, and should we ever pay attention to naysayers? I didn't, that's why you're listening to another podcast by a middle-aged white man.
An old man speaks on BBC Radio 6Music. He sounds wrought, his cockney tones lacerated with vocal fry and weariness. He sounds familiar yet distant. A voice speaking of and from my past.
I recognise it, and all at once, Phil Collins becomes the harbinger of death. This jovial, pinball-headed drummer assumes the form of the human condition — mortality itself, squaring up to me, eyeball-to-eyeball, toe-to-toe, sizing me up for the fight of my life.