While reading Down and Out in Paris and London, I came across a forgotten conversation between George Orwell and a homeless man called Bozo. Standing on Waterloo Bridge, Bozo points to the stars and quietly reminds Orwell that "the stars are a free show." It becomes a reflection on attention, dignity, Viktor Frankl, and the surprising truth that some of life's greatest riches cannot be bought- they can only be noticed.

Why do some tiny moments stay with us for a lifetime while so many important events disappear? A walk home, two Crunchie bars, and a conversation with my son became a reflection on memory, attention , and the quiet ways parents shape the future

What are we really looking for when we revisit the places we knew as children? Perhaps not the past itself, but something that remained. In this episode I reflect on a dream, a childhood library, Paul Auster's The Invention of Solitude, and the quiet witnesses that connect our present selves to vanished worlds.

Every doctor has experienced this moment.

A patient says, quietly, "I've paid my stamp all my life."

Behind those few words lies a profound question about fairness, expectation, and the changing relationship between citizens and the health service.

This episode isn't about politics or policy. It's about what happens in the consulting room when peoples expectations collide with the limits of a modern healthcare system, and the often unseen or misunderstood role doctors play in absorbing that collision.

If you have ever been a patient, or even cared for one, I hope this reflection offers a different way of seeing the consultation.

If any of this resonates with you please feel free to comment either here or to my email

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Welcome to The Glass Bead Game

A few days ago I came across a cartoon on social media.

It made me laugh.

Then it made me think.

And the more I thought about it, the less it seemed to be about artificial intelligence at all.

If any of this resonates feel free to email me on

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Most people went to the wake.

Six of us followed the coffin to the crematorium.

What happened there felt unexpectebly strange. Stripped of the crowds and familiar rhythms of a funeral, the ceremony seemed briefly exposed- deeply moving on one level but also oddly surreal.

A reflection on grief, ritual, and the experience of accompanying someone to the very end.

Please comment or email if anything resonates with you at

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What happens when a Tesco car park sits on top of a childhood field?

A reflection on memory, change, and the hidden layers beneath ordinary places.

The Glass Bead Game explores attention, witnessing, and the search for a meaningful life.

If this episode resonates with you , I would be delighted to hear from you, either leave a comment or send a message to :

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A few words on the side of a Lego box led me to think about David Attenborough, childhood, curiosity, and the strange idea that growing older means growing serious.

In this episode, I reflect on play, wonder, learning and the people who never quite lose their fascination with the world.

Maybe wisdom is not the opposite of childhood but rather childhood somewhat preserved.

Following on from "Saying much softly", this episode explores another kind of public language. The calm dismantling of a narrative, not through noise or victory, but through steadiness, restraint, and the quiet force of clarity.

If any of this resonates feel free to email

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A reflection on restraint, implication, and the quiet power of language.

In this episode , I explore how some speakers manage to communicate profound things without shouting, posturing, or simplifying the world into slogans. Through public speeches, personal reflection, and literary sensibility, this episode considers why understatement can sometimes carry greater moral force than outrage.

Sometimes people say much.... softly

If this episode resonated with you, you're very welcome to get in touch

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