Ever feel like video podcasts are missing the point? I dive into the quiet rebellion against talking heads on screens. This episode argues that grafting video onto podcasts isn't an upgrade—it's a fundamental betrayal of the medium's intimate, imaginative magic. Why sacrifice the unique connection forged by voices alone for the tyranny of awkward studio glances and questionable knitwear? I make the case that true podcasting thrives unseen, liberating both listener and host from the glare of the visual. So, press play, close your eyes, and rediscover why the best conversations happen in the dark. Audio only? Absolutely.

Ever packed up your festival tent amidst the cider-spattered carnage, knuckles grazed, silently cursing the cheerful soul who left theirs standing? Join me for an investigation into Britain’s most baffling festival phenomenon: the intentionally abandoned tent. Could this act of synthetic betrayal be more than mere laziness? I propose adding it to the Hare Psychopathy Checklist. From glib charm to a chilling lack of remorse, I dissect the neon evidence left flapping in the Glastonbury wind. Is that pristine dome beside the bins not just litter... but a tiny nylon crime scene? Prepare for a journey into the psyche of the tent abandoner.

Fed up with the snobbery around audiobooks? Join me for a dive into why clutching your hardback might be less "traditional" than you think. I dismantle the idea that listening is 'cheating', tracing storytelling back to its ancient, vocal roots—around campfires, not Kindles. Forget Clive spluttering indignantly over his unread first edition; for tens of millennia, the human voice was the original library. If you think eyeballing text is the only 'real' reading, I say it’s time to get a grip. The campfire’s back on. Listen in.

Stuck in traffic, dreaming of the skies? Suddenly, everyone's buzzing about "flying taxis" – those sleek, silent, app-summoned marvels poised to whisk us over gridlock. But hold on… haven't we had machines capable of vertical, point-to-point urban flight for decades? They’re called helicopters. So why the deafening hype for the eVTOL, essentially a helicopter in a Silicon Valley makeover? In this episode, I investigate why we are we so excited for the future of flight when the kerosene-stained, slightly noisy original is already here, stubbornly failing to revolutionise our commutes? Is it tech… or just terrific rebranding? Buckle up (or should that be strap in?). Let's take off.

Ever wondered where the invisible line sits between charmingly quirky and utterly insufferable in your local café? This week, I dissect a curious social phenomenon observed at 'The Perched Bean'. Why is the silent, weighty presence of an old SLR camera draped around a neck met with benign indifference—perhaps even quiet appreciation—while the arrival of a clattering vintage typewriter transforms the space into an unwitting soundstage for someone's very public "creative process"? Join me for an exploration of performance art, selective nostalgia, and why some analogue affectations are fine, while others are just a racket demanding an audience it never asked for.

In a world of endless grooming choices, why does the beard-without-moustache configuration inspire equal parts fascination and discomfort? This week, I delve into the curious case of the solitary beard—a facial hair faux pas that’s both a historical oddity and a modern-day social puzzle. From Elizabethan rebels to delayed Tube passengers, we explore why this style unsettles us, blending wry observation with evolutionary biology, 19th-century prison trends, and the psychological burden of Backpfeifengesicht (a face begging for a slap). Is it rebellion, indecision, or sheer hubris? Join me as I dissect the unspoken rules of facial topiary.

What if the ancient Greeks held the secret to rescuing us from the soul-crushing precision of digital clocks? In this episode, I unpack the duality of chronos and kairos—two visions of time that pit relentless schedules against the art of seizing the moment. From Odysseus’ cunning timing to the hypnotic sweep of analogue hands, I ask why modern life’s obsession with split-second efficiency has left us drowning in minutes yet starved of meaning. Could a 2,000-year-old philosophy—and a humble clock face—help us reclaim time’s poetry? Join me as I explore why sometimes, four really should come before five.

What does a 20-foot garden flagpole really signal about its owner? In this episode, I delve into the baffling world of suburban semaphore—where Union Jacks flutter like distress signals and patriotism collides with performative absurdity. From Croydon to Cornwall, I explore why your neighbour’s nylon allegiance might hint at deeper eccentricities (or a latent desire to re-enact the Battle of Trafalgar in a semi-detached). Featuring passive-aggressive hydrangeas, questionable historical grievances, and the existential horror of a permanently hoisted St George’s Cross, join me as I ask: is a garden flagpole the ultimate red flag? Spoiler: Yes. Yes, it is.

Why is it easier to organise a global Zoom call than a quick pint with mates five minutes down the road? In this episode, I dissect the modern paradox of being perpetually “connected” yet terminally antisocial. From WhatsApp groups that fizzle faster than a warm lager to the tragicomic rise of near-miss intimacy, I ask why screens have become our default social habitat. Is a TikTok comment really a substitute for banter at the bar? Can emojis replicate the warmth of a proper hug? Spoiler: no. Grab a drink (actual, not virtual) and join me as I mourn—and maybe mend—the lost art of showing up.

What if the most tedious Instagram feed you’ve ever scrolled past is actually a moral manifesto? In this episode, I unpack the quietly revolutionary act of being bad at social media—from blurry sunsets to biscuit reviews that read like existential poetry. Why do we equate curation with character? Can a poorly photographed pigeon teach us about contentment? And why is the friend who posts nothing but her shoelaces arguably the most well-adjusted person you know? Join me as I skewer the cult of personal branding and make a case for embracing the gloriously unimpressive. Spoiler: Kierkegaardian latte art may be involved.