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A Symphony in My Skull: The Trials, Tragedies, and Triumph of Bone-Conduction Headphones

Grimmer Fairytales: Clever Gretel

Redesigning My Writing Setup: Sofa, So Good

Grimmer Fairytales: The Mouse, the Bird, and the Sausage

You don't know what you don't know—so how can you know? When I started writing, I didn't know what a good environment would look like. So I didn't overthink it. I just started, iterated, and each version taught me what I actually wanted. This is how you find a good solution when you don't know what that even looks like.

Flat-sharing is never easy. Especially when your housemate is a cat. And you’re a mouse. Shared meals. Monopoly. Trust. Betrayal. Some partnerships just aren’t built to last.

How much preparation is too much? I used to pack for every possible race-day disaster. Spare wheels. Tools. A backup plan for my backup plan. Then one day, I realised: none of it helped. It wasn’t preparation. It was just… faff. This is a story about overthinking, under-trusting — and what happens when you learn to leave that weight behind.

You think you know the story of Rumpelstiltskin? The spinning, the straw, the baby, the name? That’s not this version. This one’s about bad demands, good deals, and a girl who out-negotiates a goblin. (Also: there are weird songs. Very weird songs.)

We all know what art is, right? A painting in a gallery. A sculpture in a square. Something profound made by someone in a turtleneck. At least, that’s what I thought. Then I solved my fridge magnet problem… and started wondering: is this art? And if it is — does that make me an artist? If so, then I think anyone could do it. I reverse-engineered the algorithm I followed. This is how I did it — and how you could do the same thing too.

Have you ever read the Grimm’s fairy tales? They’re like a fever dream. They skip bits. They end abruptly. Sometimes a sausage dies for no reason. The stories barely make sense — but some images stuck. A poisoned apple. A glass slipper. A house made of cake. This is why I’m rewriting them — and what I’m trying to hold on to.

This started as a project about fridge magnets. But really, it’s about what happens when an idea grabs hold—when you don’t know the final shape, only that you have to keep going. It’s a story of obsession, creative persistence, and how sometimes you only see the full picture when the final tile slides into place—and you finally step back.

When I first rode the Oxford chaingang, I got dropped in the rain and finished last. I loved it anyway—and I never got dropped again. Over time I found a way to win, week after week, on the same stretch of road. Everyone knew what was coming, but no one figured out how to stop it. This is a story about winning, strategy, and changing the game.

How do you get really good at something? I don’t think it’s perfection. Or talent. I tried, failed, learned, and tried again. When it worked, I moved on — and did the next thing a bit better. This is my manifesto for “That’ll-Do-ism”: the quietly powerful art of momentum, imperfection, and making progress anyway.

500km. Eight days. One tyre explosion. This is how I tackled the Festive 500 — and what it means to push through when things feel impossible.

I’ve been writing a series of short “Scrum Fables” — lighthearted stories that use talking animals, ridiculous situations, and a bit of satire to explore workplace dynamics. This one is about monopolies, bad product decisions, and what happens when a company decides it knows better than its customers… right up until reality disagrees. No spoilers — but Dunwell doesn’t take corporate nonsense lying down. Here’s Scrum Fables: The Biscuits Are Yours.

The Hug That Already Knew

Scrum Fables: It’s a Wonderful Lemonade Fountain