TO BALDLY GO...

THE VOICE WITHIN - A CARTOON STORY

2026-04-11T13:58:00.010+01:00

epression has been described and personified in many ways. Those of us who live with it see it in various ways; for some, it is a ‘black dog’ that stalks and threatens. But I see it differently: it is a familiar, friendly voice that we learn to trust. It is coercive control from within. It is incredibly hard to describe, but I wanted to try in the only way I know how.

I decided to start this project in February when I went through my last bout; [you can read a post I published about it here]. If you don’t already know, I draw cartoons. Drawing comic strips was always my childhood dream. Whilst I did have a drawing published in the Dandy back in 1981 (see the clipping below!), I never truly realised that dream until the internet allowed me to self-publish. Since 2019, I’ve shared over 300 strips. Readership isn't massive, but the fact that people enjoy them is fantastic for me.

But I digress. Sharing this particular work feels different. It is very personal and revealing, and quite frankly, it’s a piece of my private landscape. My visualisation of the entity of depression is unique to my experience, but I hope I’ve captured the essence of that darkness in a way that resonates.

The whole process of creating this saga has been therapeutic. Translating these feelings into lines and panels allowed me to step back and finally understand parts of myself that usually feel tangled and obscured. It has been a way of mapping the shadows so they no longer have the run of the place.

I am incredibly proud of this saga. This week, I am publishing the prologue to a five-part series. The remaining four parts will be released weekly, every Tuesday.

Above is the first frame; you can read the full prologue and follow the journey [here] or check out the whole back catalogue [here].

I’ll be sharing more of my journey and the daily reality of staying grounded in the modern world over on social media. Join in:

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THE CHARIOT OF MÀNI: BEARING WITNESS

2026-04-07T14:00:00.119+01:00

oon exploration, when mentioned, has always been a thing of the past for me. A relic of the sixties and seventies illustrated by low-quality, crackly videos of astronauts weightlessly bounding across the lunar surface...

...until now.

This month’s full moon has welcomed potential new visitors. The Artemis II mission promised to send humans around the far side of the moon—further than anyone has ever travelled—and kick-start a new era of exploration.

The last time a human walked on the moon was December 1972. I was only eighteen months old, entirely unaware of the giants leaving the earth. Because of that, this moment excites me immensely.

I sat up and watched the launch with bated breath. Aware of the historical significance, our daughter let our grandson stay up to watch with us. I don't think he quite grasped the magnitude of that streak of fire, but we will be able to tell him he was there when he’s older. He is the same age now as I was during the final Apollo mission. While he only sees the glow of the screen for now, I am keeping this memory safe for him—a bridge between the moon-walkers of my infancy and the voyagers of his future.

I feel honoured to bear witness to this. I always felt I lived in a strange middle-ground where lunar exploration was both behind and in front of me, a feat I might never see in my own lifetime. Now, there is a real chance I’ll see a human step onto that orbiting lump of cheese.

In Norse mythology, Máni is the god of the moon. Brother to the sun goddess, Sól, he guides his chariot across the sky, accompanied by the children Hjuki and Bil, while the wolf Hati pursues them relentlessly through the dark. Seeing modern steel follow that same ancient path feels right.

Looking ahead, the Artemis mission represents a fundamental shift in our relationship with the stars. This isn't just about a brief visit; it is about building a permanent hall among the craters. By establishing the Lunar Gateway and a base camp at the South Pole, they are learning to live off the land—harvesting ice for water and fuel—and turning the Moon into a stepping stone for the long voyage to Mars. It is a bold move toward self-reliance in the deep black. As I watch history unfold, I am hopeful that the path paved by Máni today will be the one my grandson walks tomorrow.

I’ve been following the mission closely, watching history unfold. It is a worthy, hopeful diversion from the horrors currently unfolding on our own soil.

The spirit of the Urban Viking—and the occasional absurdity of navigating the modern world—lives on in my webcomic, Northman.

You can read the latest chapter here: northman.kirt.me.uk

I’ll be sharing more of my journey and the daily reality of staying grounded in the modern world over on social media. Join in:

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VICTORY OF THE LIGHT: SIGRBLÓT, CERNUNNOS, AND THE CRICKET CLUB

2026-04-03T11:30:00.003+01:00

aster is often viewed through a single lens, but history reveals a far more complex tapestry. It is a season of renewal and rebirth that predates modern practices by millennia. While some today may aggressively lay claim to these origins, there is room here for all faiths—and for those with none.

I choose to honour the ancient archetypes: Cernunnos, the antlered lord of the wild, and the Green Man, the bringer of life emerging from the winter’s grip. For me, this transition isn't a single day, but a journey—starting at the first stirrings of Imbolc and stretching through to the height of spring. It is the 'Quickening' of the earth and the spirit alike.

To our Norse ancestors, this was the season of Sigrblót. It marked the third and final great sacrifice of the year, a celebration of 'Victory' as the summer half of the calendar began. They knew that to win the season, you had to start with intent.

Writing this in the wake of the clocks changing here in the UK, the shift feels literal. We have reclaimed an hour of light which gives us a sense of awakening—a literal expansion of the day that calls us out of the longhouse and back to the forge and the field.

This year, that awakening took a very practical form. We were honoured to take our beloved grandson, Atreus, to a kids’ Easter party at Conisbrough Cricket Club—the same ground where we celebrated Hallowe'en last year.

Watching him run, hunt for eggs, and navigate his first game of pass the parcel was a reminder that the 'return of life' isn't just a myth—it’s the boundless energy of the next generation.

By the time we returned him to his parents, he was exhausted, sleeping with the deep peace that only comes from a day fully lived.

As anyone tasked with maintenance knows, the gods of the hearth and the gods of the high winds are rarely in total agreement. My plans for the Easter Bank Holiday weekend have hit a snag. Following the damage detailed in my previous post, further issues have occurred, leaving two panels and a post in desperate need of replacement.

I reached an agreement with my neighbour to split the costs of materials 50-50, and those materials are scheduled to be delivered today. The intent is there, but Storm Dave is on the horizon. With a forecast promising gale-force winds, Njord—the god who governs the gale and the sea—has not been kind to my timeline. It is frustrating to finally have the time and the resources only to be held back by the elements, but part of my path is knowing when to strike and when to batten down the hatches. I’m not sure what the weekend holds yet; for now, I wait and see.

We do not fight the wind; we build to withstand it. When Njord breathes a storm upon the site, we use the delay to sharpen our tools and refine our plans. A fence built in a hurry is a fence that falls; a fence built in the right window stands for many years.

The spirit of the Urban Viking—and the occasional absurdity of navigating the modern world—lives on in my webcomic, Northman.

You can read the latest chapter here: northman.kirt.me.uk

I’ll be sharing more of my journey and the daily reality of staying grounded in the modern world over on social media. Join in:

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MECHANICAL INVADERS OF SHEFFIELD

2026-03-31T12:30:00.027+01:00

obots, we were promised back in the 70s and 80s, were the inevitable future. But what was that actually meant to look like? Popular fiction has shown us every variation imaginable: mechanical servants designed to make our lives easier, or chrome-plated overlords destined to end us all, depending on which film you watched.

We are now more than a quarter of the way into the 21st century and, aside from inside factories, I’ve yet to see robots becoming part of the everyday fabric of life.

Until today.

When you think of robots, you probably—as I did—envisage these guys:

But have you seen one of these?

I’d seen them on television, usually in America, and I was aware of them appearing in London and Leeds, but I was genuinely shocked to come across this little chap in Sheffield. He was sat up on City Road. For those who don't know the area, this is Manor Top—a place with a bit of a "reputation."

In Sheffield, we have a way of testing things to their absolute limit. If you want to know if something is truly "Steel City proof," you don't put it in a lab; you put it on a street corner in the Manor. It’s an area that doesn't suffer fools—or fragile machinery—gladly.

I must admit, I feared for the little fellow. I actually got in touch with the operators because I thought he might be lost or abandoned! They assured me that this was simply its default parking spot, and it was merely waiting for an order to pick up. Apparently, they’ve been rolled out successfully in similar "tough" areas before, but I remain a skeptic.

Will the little guy and his siblings survive the challenge of Sheffield’s streets? One can't help but remember the ill-fated OFO hire bike scheme. Those yellow bikes were launched with similar optimism, only to end up being repurposed as canal-bed ornaments or stripped for parts within weeks.

Is Sheffield ready for this kind of mechanical integration, or will the spirit of the local hills be a bit too much for these tiny couriers? Time will tell if this robot is a pioneer or just the next resident of the River Don.

The spirit of the Urban Viking—and the occasional absurdity of navigating the modern world—lives on in my webcomic, Northman. Whether it’s ancient gods or mechanical invaders on City Road, the daily reality of staying grounded remains the same.

You can read the latest chapter here: northman.kirt.me.uk

I’ll be sharing more of my journey and the daily reality of staying grounded in the modern world over on social media. Join in:

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BONDS OF IRON OVER GEARS OF STEEL

2026-03-27T16:00:00.080+00:00

y bike is my loyal steed, my iron horse that gets me everywhere I need to go... until it doesn’t. I thought we'd started to forge a bond in the miles out on the road especially since my current daily go to was only purchased back in January, so you’d think we would still be in the honeymoon period. I certainly did.

That changed last week when I noticed an ominous creaking echoing from the chainset. At first, I chalked it up to a few days of accumulated road grit after some particularly wet weather. But after a thorough cleaning, the noise persisted, and the mischievous road wight finally revealed itself.

One of the pedals wasn't sitting right. It was immediately clear that the screw threads had misaligned. After a massive struggle to get the pedal off for a closer look, my worst nightmare was confirmed: the pedal had completely stripped the threads away.

Then began the quest for a replacement. After hours of clicking and swiping, I found plenty of 170mm and 175mm left crank arms, but trying to find the 172.5mm I sought proved to be like hunting a ghost in a blizzard. In the end, I was left with no choice but to order a full replacement crankset and new pedals.

Beyond the unwanted expense, it means the bike is officially off the road until the components arrive and I can find the time to fit them.

Fortunately, the weekend offered a much-needed distraction. I finally had the chance to catch up with my oldest and best friend, Ian. We hadn't sat across from one another since Midwinter, and the fellowship was a welcome reminder that while machines fail, bonds of iron don't.

We parted ways with a promise not to let so much time slip by next time. After all, it didn't take much organising—just good company and a bit of perspective.

When the machine fails—and it will—we return to the hall. We find perspective in fellowship. A broken crankset is a costly offering, but it is also a reminder that our true strength lies in the bonds of friendship that do not strip or fail under pressure.

The spirit of the Urban Viking—and the occasional absurdity of navigating the modern world—lives on in my webcomic, Northman. When the gears of the world grind or the wights cause mischief, find respite in the saga.

You can read the latest chapter here: northman.kirt.me.uk

I’ll be sharing more of the journey, the mechanical battles, and the daily tactical reality of staying grounded in the modern world over on social media. Join the fellowship:

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THE FUTURE'S ORANGE

2026-03-24T11:00:00.025+00:00

ublic transport is something I’m quite passionate about. Some might say it’s in my blood. Back in the nineties, I drove buses, but it goes back even further than that. I grew up with public transport in my life; it was always there as a backdrop.

My Dad was a bus driver for most of his working life. He drove through most of the seventies—the "heyday" of council-run services when travel was cheap and frequent. The stories I’ve heard from this time mirror the sitcom On the Buses. But my links with the industry go back even further: my Nan—Dad’s mum—was a conductress on the old Sheffield trams. I know little about her stories or even how long she worked for the corporation, but the legacy is there.

In 1986, the worst chapter in the story of public transport began. Margaret Thatcher sold a story of private competition bringing better service and cheaper fares. Passenger numbers were already in decline and reform was likely on the cards, but what happened was definitely not the answer. Fares quadrupled and services were cut, especially the more rural and "unprofitable" ones.

In the nineties, I found myself in a bit of a hole; I’d just gotten engaged to Morticia and had lost my job. My dad opened a door and got me an interview, which started an 11-year chapter behind the wheel. I loved the public service aspect but hated the monotonous nature of the job. I eventually needed more and moved on.

My bus driving days

Apart from London, buses have been subject to market forces and declining subsidies for 40 years. This has left us with a poor service that, for the most part, doesn't serve the public properly. Last year, however, the South Yorkshire Mayor stated his intention to bring transport back under public control through a franchise model. They also took back the Supertram network, reintroducing publicly owned transport to the region for the first time since the eighties.

This month, the Mayor’s office unveiled the look of the new network. Heavily influenced by Manchester’s "Bee Network," the livery and name are massive callbacks to our region’s history. The name—"South Yorkshire People’s Network"—nods to the 80s nickname: the "People’s Republic of South Yorkshire." The bright orange is supposed to represent molten steel. I love the new scheme (partly because orange is my favourite colour) and it will be applied to the trams too.

The most important detail in this news is the joining up of fares and ticketing. As a regular user, this is vital; it removes the confusion for both regular and casual users.

So, the future is bright (orange) for public transport here in South Yorkshire. I hope the changes mean a better service for those areas that have lost or seen services reduced over the years. I can’t wait for my first ride on an orange bus.

Read the full story on BBC News: https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/articles/cjrqxz22z3vo

The spirit of the "Urban Viking"—and the occasional absurdity of navigating the modern world—lives on in my webcomic, Northman.

You can read the latest chapter here: northman.kirt.me.uk

I’ll be sharing more about my journey, the battles and the daily tactical reality of staying grounded in the modern world over on social media.

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BlueSky ● TikTok

SURVIVING THE "A" BOMB

2026-03-21T12:00:00.007+00:00

ife has a way of creating chores for us and then making it difficult to complete them. It can be hard to get stuff done when, suddenly, there’s something else that needs doing.

Last week, a weather bomb literally exploded in our garden. Stuff was blown everywhere, the greenhouse was devastated, and we lost a fence panel. Strictly speaking, the panel belongs to the neighbours, but since the house is rented, it’s not clear if or when it will be replaced. I need to make some temporary arrangements to secure our respective gardens, especially since we both have dogs. I do have some old fence panels that I might be able to use to fashion a suitable barrier in the short term. Years ago, the fence blew down regularly, but since the surrounding trees grew tall and wide, this hasn't been an issue for a long time.

Since my accident in November, I’ve not seen a doctor (except for the medical assessment for the claim) since that night in A&E. Although I have physio coming up soon, I wanted a professional opinion on my recovery, which seems to have plateaued lately. I made an appointment at my surgery—quite a while ago, since it wasn't classed as an emergency. I didn't know this doctor, but as someone who isn't a regular patient, that’s to be expected.

He checked me over and viewed my X-rays from the night of the accident. He then told me the A&E doctor was probably a little optimistic with his 6–8 week recovery estimate. Then, he dropped the "A" bomb: age. He said recovery would be slower at my age! I was a bit taken aback, but I suppose being over 50 means I fit into a particular bracket. He said the upcoming physio would be needed to push me over the line to a full recovery and that I shouldn't expect any lasting issues. I hope he's right.

The spirit of the "Urban Viking"—and the occasional absurdity of navigating the modern world—lives on in my webcomic, Northman. It’s a space where the same themes of authenticity and grit meet the dry humour of holding the line against weather bombs, aging, and the general chaos of life.

You can read the latest chapter here: northman.kirt.me.uk

I’ll be sharing more about my recovery journey, the battle to secure the garden, and the daily tactical reality of staying grounded in the modern world over on social media.

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THE RELUCTANT SOCIALITE

2026-03-18T10:27:00.127+00:00

reat social gatherings were once the backbone of my week. Years ago, work events were constant, brilliant, and effortless to navigate. Somewhere along the way, however, the "social rust" set in. It isn't that the desire to be social has vanished—I’m no shy-away type—but the "tribe" has to be right. There is a world of difference between sharing a table with a few trusted friends and navigating the broad, noisy sea of a workplace crowd. With the former, the guard is down; with the latter, the armour is firmly buckled.

Trepidation is a heavy weight when a work social day looms on the calendar. In a smaller group of kindred spirits, I’m grounded and engaged. But in a vast, professional setting, the effort of "performing" feels far more taxing than it used to. Having missed the last event due to injury, the pressure to show up was mounting. There was a genuine fear of becoming the office ghost, yet the thought of that specific, large-scale socialising felt daunting.

Beneath the nerves lies a deeper fear: the risk of truly revealing myself. To be clear, there’s no risk of turning up naked; it’s the exposure of those aspects of my character that colleagues rarely see. Years ago, a "middle ground" persona served as a convenient buffer, but those days are gone. At my age, the philosophy is simple: if who I am isn't acceptable to you, that is your problem, not mine.

Determination eventually won out. A Viking doesn’t just sit out the raid because the wind feels cold. Donning my best battle vest, a tactical decision was made: show up, engage, and honour the invitation. It wasn't about being the "life and soul," but about standing in the line and being present. With that, the journey began toward the bus stop and Sheffield City Centre.

Gathering at the meeting point just before 2pm, I found the numbers were healthy—around nine or ten of us, despite a few cancellations. We started at a Wetherspoons before moving on to an Irish-themed bar called "Four Leafs" on West Street. I’d initially thought it was previously 'Barkers' back in the day, but that was actually next door.

With St Patrick’s Day looming, the place was packed and the vibe was high. However, instead of the obligatory Guinness, I opted for a pint of Welsh Stout—Tiny Rebel’s Coal Drop. It felt like a quiet middle finger to the transatlantic commercialism that usually surrounds the season.

The night was enjoyable, though the absence of my work bestie was certainly felt. It was a genuine opportunity to show my true self and, equally, to see others without their professional masks. My hope for the future is that we see more of these events; it would certainly make for a better, more cohesive team.

I chose to depart just after 7pm. It was the right time for me to make a move. I did consider popping into the Dove and Rainbow—a long-established rock and metal bar that’s more my speed—but time was short and I’d had a few by that point. Had I been out with Morticia, I likely would have ventured in, but the draw of home was stronger. The bus was perfectly on time, delivering me back to the door with enough of the evening left to take Magnus out for his walk.

Sometimes, the victory isn’t in being the last man standing, but in knowing you showed up, stood your ground, and returned to the longhouse on your own terms.

The spirit of the "Urban Viking"—and the occasional absurdity of navigating the modern world—lives on in my webcomic, Northman. It’s a space where the same themes of authenticity and grit meet the dry humour of just trying to hold the line without losing your mind.

You can read the latest chapter here: northman.kirt.me.uk

I’ll be sharing more about my path, my tactical social raids, and the daily battle to stay unmasked (and fully clothed) over on social media. Join the shield wall there:

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MOTHERS: THE ARCHITECTS OF THE HEARTH

2026-03-15T09:30:00.001+00:00

other’s Day is a sacred time, not a retail opportunity. Forget the hollow hype of the greetings card industry and the plastic tat that clutters the shelves. This day should be more than a commercial obligation; it is a moment to honour the architects of our lineage. In a world that feels increasingly chaotic, I’m looking at the women who forged the foundation I stand on. Today, I’m honouring the mothers in my life.

Long before the high-street "tat," our ancestors were already marking this tide. The Greeks and Romans held spring festivals for the Great Mother, and many of us still feel the pull of Imbolc—the Celtic festival of Brigid. She is the goddess of the hearth and the "waking" of the earth; the first spark of life after a long winter. While my Norse beliefs don’t point to a specific "Mothering Day," the figure of Frigg looms large. As Queen of Asgard, she represents the sacredness of the home and the weaving of wyrd (destiny). She reminds us that motherhood isn’t just a role—it’s the architecture of the future.

By the 1600s, this shifted into the Christian "Mothering Sunday." It was a raw, gritty tradition for the working class. Young domestic servants were granted their one day of the year to walk miles back to their "Mother Church" and their families. They didn’t buy overpriced bouquets; they gathered wildflowers from the hedgerows because they were free, wild, and honest.

Of course, the Americans brought the "hype." The modern iteration was born in 1908 when Anna Jarvis sought to honour her mother’s Civil War service. But the story has a bite: Jarvis ended up loathing her own creation. By the 1920s, she was being arrested for protesting the very florists and card makers who had turned a sacred tribute into a profit margin. It took the efforts of Constance Penswick-Smith to pull the UK’s tradition back from the brink of extinction, reminding us that the day belongs to the hearth, not the retail park. But this didn't stop the capitalist circus from taking hold.

Today, Mother’s Day belongs to everyone—irrespective of belief or background—as a moment to stop the clock and honour the foundations we stand on.

Despite the noisy "capitalist circus" that surrounds the day, the core remains. For me, that core is built by four women—the architects of my own history and the weavers of my family’s future.

My Mother

The woman who gave birth to me, raised me, and set me on my way. She was the most important person in the first chapter of my life. Like any long road, we’ve had our ups and downs, our sharp turns and our smooth paths, but we are settled now. Today, she’s living out her retirement with my Dad and their two dogs. I dropped off the flowers and the obligatory box of Maltesers (her favourite) on Friday, clearing the decks so I can help my daughters honour their own mother today.

My Beloved Morticia

Then there is the mother to my girls. She was born for this role. She has navigated every one of life’s crises with a bravery and dignity that I can only admire. She gave our daughters the freedom to become exactly who they wanted to be, always putting their needs before her own—a selflessness she still carries now that they are grown. She is the steady flame at our hearth.

My Mother-in-Law

An honourable mention must go to Morticia’s mother. Over the years, she has become a true friend to her daughter. It has been a rough year for her, but she has faced every challenge with a quiet, stubborn courage that commands respect.

The Newest Branch

Finally, there is the newest mother in our family: my youngest daughter. She is now the proud mother of our wonderful grandson, and watching her navigate the chaos of a mischievous toddler is a reminder of where this cycle begins anew. The lineage continues.

I honour them all today. My advice to you is to ignore the junk in the shops and look to the people. If you can, visit your mum. If you can’t, call her. And if she is no longer walking this earth, take a quiet moment to remember her and the foundation she built for you.

Happy Mother’s Day.

While I honour the foundations laid by those who came before—the spirit of the "Urban Viking" lives on in my webcomic, Northman. You’ll find those same themes of lineage, grit, and endurance woven into the rugged landscapes of Jorvikshire.

You can read the latest chapter here: northman.kirt.me.uk

I’ll be sharing more about my path and the day-to-day reality of living an authentic, grounded life over on social media. Join me there:

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CHAOS IN A SMALL SPACE BY THE HEARTH FIRE

2026-03-12T11:30:00.006+00:00

wenty-five years ago this year, we moved into our home. We were a young family with a five-year-old and another on the way. It’s a little house—three compact bedrooms that were perfectly fine for our small family at the time. Life, as it tends to do, unfolded in its own way, and today we still find ourselves in the same place. However, looking back at those twenty-five years, I realise I haven't yet shared the current makeup of our household as it stands today.

Years ago, we were a family of four plus a cat. We always imagined that as the children grew, we would move to a larger house, but life rarely follows the plans we lay out. Morticia became ill and has remained disabled since—a shift that naturally affected our income and anchored us here. It was a difficult transition, but it’s the reality we navigated together, and it’s why this little house remained our home.

Fast forward to today, and the current makeup of our household is quite a different story. Our eldest daughter moved out years ago; she’s married now and living in a flat near Hillsborough. Our cat, Angel, passed away five years ago and has been succeeded by our dog, Magnus. My youngest remains at home, joined two years ago by her boyfriend—a tall thirty-year-old man with famously enormous feet. Their son, our grandson, arrived twenty-two months ago, bringing a renewed and beloved chaos to our lives.

It is a cramped, busy, and often loud house. In the middle of that whirlwind, I sometimes crave a moment of stillness. Occasionally I find it—but I can always retreat to my shed, my noddfa. It is my sanctuary, a "thin place" that serves as the quiet counterpoint to the crowded energy indoors.

Our home is small, full to the rafters, and often feels like it's bursting at the seams, but it is ours. In my own way, I’ve always seen these walls as a boundary, a small world of our own that we’ve protected despite the challenges, keeping the metaphorical hearth fire burning through every season. One day, the youngest will (very probably, perhaps) move on with her family, and then these few rooms will fall quiet, leaving just Morticia, Magnus, and me. That calmer future isn't on the immediate horizon, but for now, we are simply living the life we have been handed, right here where we are.

Today the weather turned, and I’ve had to make a decision on the commute. With the wind sitting at 30-40 mph and even nastier gusts forecast, the road is a different beast entirely. In years past, I’d have just put my head down and fought through it, regardless of the strain. But I’m still dealing with the fallout from November’s crash; the back injury I picked up then gives me enough daily grief without adding a gale into the mix. A genuine sense of foreboding told me to leave the bike at home today, so I’m taking the bus. It isn't about backing down; it’s about being smart enough to stay in one piece for the work that’s still to come.

While I navigate the "chaos" of our compact home—tending to my noddfa and the quiet resilience of our small space—the spirit of the "Urban Viking" lives on in my webcomic, Northman. You’ll find those same themes of endurance in the rugged landscapes of Jorvikshire.

You can read the latest chapter here: northman.kirt.me.uk

I’ll be sharing more about my path, the upcoming projects, and the day-to-day reality of living full-to-the-rafters over on social media. Join me there:

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PROJECT: HIGH CONTRAST ARMOUR

2026-03-05T10:00:00.005+00:00

s I’ve mentioned before, my "battle vest" often draws compliments and recognition, and even my everyday jacket gets its fair share of attention. The irony is that I’m frequently mistaken for a motorcyclist. I’m not; I don’t have a licence, and the act of riding a motorbike has never actually appealed to me. I’ve never understood why that rugged motorcycle aesthetic hasn't crossed over into the cycling world more often. So, what if I decided to expand that look into my own cycling outerwear?

Before we talk about the vest, let’s look at the helmet. It took a long time to find something that matched the look I wanted, but last year I finally found a base ripe for customisation. With some vinyl transfers and a set of steampunk goggles, I finally created something unique.

My current outerwear is a sleeveless cycling jacket decorated with patches in a battle vest style—a "poor relation" to the real thing, perhaps. Recently, the zip has started to fail, and its life is coming to an end. Considering how tough the last few months have been, and the long journey back from my collision, a new jacket feels like a statement of defiance—a middle finger to fate.

My plan is to acquire a lightweight denim vest and treat it with a waterproofing spray. While I’ll always carry a raincoat, I need something to defend against the odd shower. The big question, however, is: to high-viz, or not to high-viz

High-visibility clothing can make you easier to detect, but detection is not the same as protection. Real-world evidence doesn’t consistently show that hi-viz reduces crash risk; it may help you be seen, but it doesn’t guarantee that drivers will behave better. Lights are different—they create a presence. Clothing can enhance visibility, but it is no substitute for illumination

Then there is the matter of liability. Safety evidence and "courtroom optics" are two very different things. In the event of a collision, hi-viz may help demonstrate that you took "reasonable steps" to be seen. It may not prevent the crash, but it shapes the narrative afterwards. Lights protect you in law and physics; hi-viz protects you in perception.

So, the choice is between black or yellow. Yellow usually conjures images of flimsy hi-viz mesh, "construction-site chic," or the kind of off-the-shelf compliance that feels like an apology for being on the road. But what if it didn't?

I’m starting to see a different path: Urban Viking Endurance. Yellow doesn’t have to mean safety-standard-issue. It can mean structured yellow denim. It can mean a tactical cut with reflective detailing integrated into the design. With an intentional layout of patches—not a festival archive, but a curated selection—it stops being a hi-viz apology and becomes high-contrast armour.

I turned to an AI image generator for a glimpse into the future...

...Well? Granted, I don’t look quite as "polished" as this computer-generated chap—I don’t have the "guns," the tattoos, or much of the hair these days—but the vest actually works. It retains the rugged, battle-hardened vibe while making a very loud statement of presence.

With a potential start date of next payday, I have time to weigh my options. But with visibility and liability weighing heavy, I’m seriously considering taking the yellow path—not for the sake of compliance, but for the defiance of the Urban Viking.

A quick update on the 'broken mug' saga I mentioned last time. After some digital scouting and a few well-placed messages, I managed to locate the maker and purchase a replacement. It’s a small victory, but drinking tea from the right vessel is a daily ritual I wasn't willing to sacrifice.

While I am focusing on a much-needed overhaul of my gear—starting with the birth of a new, custom-armoured "Urban Viking" vest—the journey through the rugged landscapes of Jorvikshire continues in my webcomic, Northman. If you’ve enjoyed these tales of resilience, you’ll find that same spirit alive in the comic.

You can read the latest chapter here: northman.kirt.me.uk

I’ll be sharing the evolution of the new vest project, along with more glimpses into my Norse-inspired path and the day-to-day of the "Urban Viking" lifestyle, over on social media. Join me there:

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THE DIGITAL PENCIL

2026-02-28T20:26:00.095+00:00

rawing cartoons has been a passion of mine for as long as I can remember—transitioning over the years from doodling on scraps of paper to crafting full-scale digital creations.

Before I kick off this post—which probably won't be as interesting as the last couple—I’d like to talk about what happened after York. Well, nothing really. When I got home, I was immediately struck down with an awful cold; I've spent my days off sneezing and coughing through a forced standstill that I’d hoped would have been productive. To make matters worse, my large Viking-inspired mug that Morticia bought me at last year's Jorvik Viking Festival was involved in a bit of an accident and smashed on Tuesday. I am absolutely distraught at the loss of my favourite drinking vessel. The irony is that had this happened last week, I could have replaced it at this year's festival.

For my 50th birthday (almost five years ago), I used some money gifted by my parents to invest in a Samsung tablet with a generous 12.5" screen. It came with what I thought was the ultimate game changer: the S-Pen. I’ve been perfectly happy with that setup for five years, but recently, I found myself curious about what else the market had to offer. I’m not quite ready to splash out on a full hardware upgrade just yet (though I wouldn't say no if the opportunity arose!), but I wanted to see if I could enhance the experience.

My research led me to the world of third-party styluses. After looking through countless options, I decided to treat myself to the Staedtler Noris Digital. Honestly? It’s a revelation. It looks and feels exactly like a traditional pencil in the hand, which feels far more natural than the standard plastic alternatives.

Creating my comic strip is something I deeply enjoy. While I’m never quite sure how many people actually see the final result, the process itself is incredibly therapeutic. Lately, I’ve been moving in a more serious direction; I’m currently working on a piece about depression. It’s important to me to show that cartooning isn’t always about punchlines or funny situations—I’m not afraid to use my art to face the darker moments too.

A sneak peek at my current work-in-progress,
'Northman', coming mid-April.

My tablet remains one of my most treasured possessions, almost exclusively for its drawing features. It is my digital anvil, where I hammer out ideas and sketches. Imagine my surprise, then, when returning to the room following a brief errand, I found this unexpected pic in the image gallery.

It seems my grandson, Atreus, found the allure of the glowing screen too much to ignore. He knows he isn't meant to touch, but like a true explorer, he just couldn't resist. It’s a perspective only a curious child could capture—a little bit of domestic mischief caught in the frame.

To wrap things up, I have some truly fantastic news to share. We have officially booked our next journey to Cymru. In just 100 days, we’ll be crossing the border and returning to our "happy place." There is a specific kind of peace found in the Welsh landscape that resonates deeply with my Celtic leanings. The countdown is officially on!

If you want to see my current drawings then check out my webcomic, Northman, which chronicles "our hero's" adventures through the rugged landscape of Jorvikshire.

You can read the latest chapter here: northman.kirt.me.uk

Stay Connected For updates, behind-the-scenes content, and hopefully a few photos of me back on the bike soon, you can find me on social media.

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JÓRVÍK: A VIKING PILGRIMAGE (Part 2)

2026-02-23T17:30:00.015+00:00

órvík Viking Festival is an annual, week-long celebration in York, established in February 1985 following the landmark opening of the Jórvík Viking Centre the year prior. Now recognised as Europe’s largest Viking event, it has become a massive pilgrimage for living history enthusiasts, battle re-enactors, and history buffs. It’s a unique space where the academic meets the atmospheric, drawing in everyone from Viking fans to Heathens.

Last week we visited York for the Viking Festival; I covered day one in my previous post (here). Our remaining time in this glorious city was spent taking in the Viking vibe and enjoying everything York has to offer. Between the scent of woodsmoke drifting from the encampments and the steady beat of drums echoing through the streets, the atmosphere was incredible.

From the encampment to the marvellous Valhalla bar (a must for anyone who loves Viking culture), every corner felt alive. The Merchant Adventurers' Hall hosted the 10th-century traders' market, which was brimming with Viking and medieval goods. Morticia even treated me to a new drinking horn—one that holds a full pint!

Our evenings were spent in Valhalla, just around the corner from the famous Shambles. It is truly the place to be during the festival, with a spirited mix of Vikings, re-enactors, and metalheads all crossing the threshold. The music is great, the food is excellent, and the ale is top-tier.

While the live music can be a bit hit-and-miss, the beauty of having three floors is that you can always find a spot that fits your mood. It was heartening to see so many familiar faces; people we see year after year where a simple, knowing nod is all that’s needed to acknowledge we’re amongst our own again.

Last year we took in the Jorvik Viking Centre, so this year we decided to change pace. Though it's a slight departure from the Viking genre, we thought it would be a bit of fun to visit the York Dungeon.

Before that, however, we popped in to 'visit' Dick. The Blue Boar is famously reported to have held the body of the notorious highwayman, Dick Turpin, following his execution. Down in the cellar—where you can still sit and soak in the history—there’s a coffin and details of his grisly end. Having been before, we couldn't help but notice they’ve added a pool table to the cellar area; it does take away some of the atmosphere, but the history of the place still lingers.

The York Dungeon is a theatrical journey through 2,000 years of the city's macabre history, billed as a 'scary-fun' experience. While I found it highly enjoyable, the 'scare' factor didn't quite hit for me—perhaps I’ve just developed a high tolerance for the genre over the years!

Morticia has visited the London Dungeon and maintains that the London offering is superior in scale and thrills. However, I’m not written off yet; I think next time I’d look into their Dungeon Lates (18+) for a more adult-orientated, late-night experience to see if that can truly rattle my bones.

Saturday brought the famous March to Coppergate, where the Vikings march through the winding streets of York; it is truly a sight to witness. We didn't manage to snag the best viewpoint this year, as the streets felt even busier than usual, but I still wouldn't have missed it for all of Midgard. There is something powerful about the sound of boots on cobblestones and the roar of the warriors that stays with you long after they've passed.

An interesting bit of history to keep in mind while wandering: the many street names ending in ‘gate’—so common here in the North and in other Viking-settled areas—actually originate from the Old Norse word gata, meaning ‘street’ or ‘way.’ It’s a linguistic echo I see all the time back home, and it’s a nice reminder that even when the festival ends, we are still walking the paths laid down by our ancestors.

A final walk around the Viking markets and one last meal in Valhalla closed out our visit. By then, both Morticia and I were feeling the physical toll of the weekend; my back was giving me significant trouble and, with her own disability, it was clear she was also struggling and ready to head home.

Unlike last year, the train journey was thankfully uneventful and even on time. Our train departed York Station at a quarter to seven, leaving the city behind as we turned our focus toward home and the rest we both needed.

However, the pull of the city is already working its magic; we’re already looking forward to next year’s festival and are even considering a cheeky visit later this year—funds permitting, of course.

On our travels, I often get comments on my ‘look’—usually it’s the beard or the jacket, and occasionally even the glasses. Every visit to the festival seems to result in someone wanting to photograph the back of my vest. So, this time, while the night brought out the true beauty of The Shambles, I asked Morticia to take a photograph of my back (perhaps my best side?) so I could finally share whatever the fuss is all about.

While I am back from the physical streets of York and focusing on a much-needed reset, the journey through the rugged landscapes of Jorvikshire continues in my webcomic, Northman. If you’ve enjoyed the tales of my time in the city, you’ll find that same spirit alive in the comic.

You can read the latest chapter here: northman.kirt.me.uk

The festival may have ended, but I’ll be sharing more photos from the encampment, the March on Coppergate, and the mystery of the "vest" over on social media. Join me there for more glimpses into my Norse-inspired path:

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JÓRVÍK: A VIKING PILGRIMAGE (Part 1)

2026-02-21T17:30:00.002+00:00

ork is a remarkable city. While my soul is generally more at home in the rural coastal wilds of Cymru, Jórvík is the one urban landscape that calls to me. Driven by a fascination with our Viking heritage, we’ve set out on what has become an annual pilgrimage to Britain’s Norse capital to immerse ourselves in the Jórvík Viking Festival.

Before I start this post proper, I’d like to thank everyone for the love and kind words following my previous post. It showed me that I’m not on my own and that I have the strength to keep going, even when the path feels difficult. Thank you so much for your support.

This trip feels particularly vital to us this year. For me, it is a necessary reset; for us both, it is a much-needed escape from the chaos of our overcrowded home. I’ve always found a certain peace in rail travel, and part of the joy of this pilgrimage is that we are making the journey by train. As we head from the south of our county toward the north, the rhythmic hum of the carriage creates a perfect 'buffer'. By the time the industrial landscape gives way to the open breath of the Vale of York, the mental noise of my life starts to quieten, making room for the ancient atmosphere of Jórvík to take hold.

We stepped off the train at York Railway Station at twenty minutes past midday on Thursday. The journey was pleasant enough, though it was standing room only on the final leg from Doncaster. We wasted no time heading to the hotel to drop our bags; with check-in not until 3pm, we were eager to get straight into the city centre. The River Ouse was back within her banks following some flooding earlier in the month, a return to her usual majestic self.

Parliament Street was, as ever, home to the 'Viking Encampment.' Between the living history displays and the merchants, the air was thick with the scent of blacksmiths' fires and the primal thrum of a drumming troupe, which made the atmosphere feel truly immersive.

For dinner (I'm northern, dinner is the midday meal), we returned to The Fat Badger—as the saying goes, if it ain't broke, don't fix it. I’m not usually one to photograph my food, but this was a culinary work of art: a Yorkshire pudding filled with pulled pork and topped with a rich gravy. I don’t often do 'posh,' but it was bloody lovely.

After officially checking in and getting changed for the evening, we gravitated towards Valhalla on Patrick Pool. It’s our go-to spot; the music is great, the vibe is spot on, and it’s where the Vikings truly hang out. I even received a couple of compliments on my vest, with one lady asking for a photo of the back.

We ended the night with a wander down the Shambles, discovering a new pub called the King's Inn. It’s a bit touristy, but they served a good pint. A final stop at the chippy on the way back to the hotel closed out a perfect first day.

With the modern world finally starting to recede, we’ve settled into the heart of the city. The pilgrimage has officially begun, and I’m looking forward to seeing what else Jórvík has to show me this year. In my next post, I’ll be diving into more of the sights and sounds of the festival, and reflecting on the headspace I find among the hearths, histories, and heathens within the encampment.

While I’m off-grid and soaking up the atmosphere of the festival, the story in my webcomic, Northman, continues its journey through the rugged landscapes of Jorvikshire.

You can read the latest chapter here: northman.kirt.me.uk

Stay Connected for live updates from the city, behind-the-scenes glimpses of the encampment, and more from my pilgrimage North, you can find me on social media:

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FINDING MY FEET AGAIN

2026-02-18T09:00:00.029+00:00

’ve been quiet for a couple of weeks because I realised I needed a bit of a reset.

Since the cycling accident back in November, my headspace hasn't been where I'd like it to be. To be honest, I haven't quite been myself lately, and I’ve made a few mistakes while trying to navigate the fallout. Between the physical recovery and some other personal challenges, I found I was struggling to find my usual rhythm.

Getting back on the bike has been more difficult than I anticipated, and the constant back pain hasn't helped. Rather than trying to force things or over-analyse why I’m feeling this way, I decided to just hit the pause button.

This break has been about clearing the slate and finding my footing again. I’m not quite there yet, but I’m taking things one step at a time and focusing on that reset.

Tomorrow, I’m heading to York for a few days of much-needed distraction. I’m really looking forward to the change of scenery. Let's see how things go from here.

While I’m focusing on my own recovery and getting back to fitness, the story in my webcomic, Northman, continues through the rugged landscapes of Jorvikshire.

You can read the latest chapter here: northman.kirt.me.uk

Stay Connected For updates, behind-the-scenes content, and hopefully a few photos of me back on the bike soon, you can find me on social media.

Instagram ● Threads

BlueSky ● TikTok

BEATING THE BLUE

2026-01-24T11:30:00.015+00:00

lue Monday was allegedly last week, falling on the third Monday of January as it does every year. It is widely said to be the most depressing day of the calendar, and while I don’t entirely subscribe to the theory, I can certainly recognise where it stems from. It’s that familiar cocktail of the post-festive slump, short daylight hours, and the long, cold stretch toward payday—though I’m fortunate enough to be paid mid-month, which spares me that particular sting.

Change at the Doorstep

At the end of last year, our neighbours moved out. We had a great relationship and wished them well, but their landlord was selling up and they had an opportunity to move on. Last week, the new owner arrived. Unfortunately, it’s another private landlord.

I’ve never had much time for the "buy-to-let" market, particularly when it prices lower-income buyers off the housing ladder, but I won’t get started on that again—at least not today. For now, my main grievance is the noise. The renovation is in full swing, and while I know it's temporary, it’s certainly put a dampener on the extra days off I’d booked for some peace and quiet. Given some of the horror stories we’ve had over the years, I can’t help but feel a bit apprehensive about who the new tenants will be.

The Road to Recovery

On a more personal note, I recently attended a medical assessment regarding my bike injury from last year. The goal was to secure a formal report on my ongoing condition, as I’m still dealing with a fair amount of pain and discomfort.

The doctor confirmed that I need physiotherapy, which should apparently be covered by the other party’s insurance. I’m currently on a waiting list for physio through occupational health and have a GP appointment in a couple of weeks, so for now, it’s a case of "wait and see."

Back in the Saddle

Despite the niggling injury, I’m making good progress with my bike commutes. Surprisingly, the cycling isn’t impacting my back, and the exercise is actually aiding my recovery. Some might say winter isn't the most logical time to resume outdoor training, but I’ve always been known as a determined cyclist—or perhaps just a bit of an idiot, depending on your point of view!

I also managed to get into my shed last weekend to clear out all the junk that had been shoved in there before the festive period. I finally have proper storage for my new bike, alongside my others, and more importantly, I’ve reclaimed my "special place." My description in a previous post perhaps painted a picture of a much larger outbuilding, but as you can see from the image, it’s a cosy space—and exclusively mine.

If you appreciate the stark resilience of northern life—and the persistence it takes to tackle both steep climbs and daily hurdles like the ones I've shared today—you'll find those same echoes in my webcomic, Northman. While I’m busy reclaiming my shed and navigating the road back to full fitness, my characters are traversing much more treacherous terrain through the rugged landscapes of Jorvikshire.

Read the latest chapter here: northman.kirt.me.uk

Check out my social media

For regular updates, behind-the-scenes content, and further reflections on my creative path (and perhaps a photo of me back on the bike!), connect with me on social media.

Instagram ● Threads

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WALES IN YELLOW: LE TOUR RETURNS

2026-01-22T13:18:00.013+00:00

have amazing news, something I’ve been waiting for has finally dropped: the Grand Départ is returning to the UK! There is an unrivalled magic when the Tour de France crosses the Channel, and I am absolutely buzzing that the world's greatest sporting spectacle is set to grace our backyard once again. Not since that spine-tingling summer of 2014 have we seen the peloton on British roads, and the prospect of that electric atmosphere returning is nothing short of incredible.

This time, however, the yellow jersey is heading north and west. With Stage One in Scotland, Stage Two in Cumbria, and Stage Three in Wales, the route is skipping Yorkshire—but it's that Welsh stage that has me dreaming. To see the world’s elite riders tackle the roads of my favourite place on earth would be a total thrill. While I’m a realist about the logistics of making it to the roadside, you can bet I’m already looking for ways to tag a viewing onto one of my usual trips.

But the excitement doesn't stop with the men's race. In a historic first, the Tour de France Femmes avec Zwift is also coming to the UK for its own Grand Départ later that month. While I'll be looking west for the men, the women’s peloton is bringing the drama right to my doorstep. Stage Two on Saturday, 31 July, is set to finish in Sheffield after a grueling climb over the Snake Pass. It feels like a beautiful full-circle moment to have the world's best female riders finishing in the same city where I watched Nibali take the yellow jersey back in 2014.

My excitement is rooted in

my original post from that incredible weekend in 2014

. I can still feel the ache in my legs from that 6:00 am start, cycling out of the city to find the perfect spot on the Côte de Midhopestones. I remember sitting on the summit with my sandwiches, soaking up the atmosphere as the helicopters crested the hill and the peloton flew up a climb that I’d been 'blowing out of my arse' on just hours earlier. Seeing myself on TV highlights later as Marcel Kittel passed my spot cemented it as a true life event. I would give anything to experience that kind of magic again.

From 2014

Of course, the desire to be there in person is even stronger now that the landscape of television coverage is shifting. The issue of free-to-air access remains a frustrating hurdle for fans, a topic I covered in a post last year when the end of an era was first announced. If we can't rely on the traditional TV experience, then making it to the roadside becomes more than just a dream—it’s the best way left to witness the spectacle.

If you appreciate the atmospheric grit of northern life—and the resilience it takes to tackle both steep climbs and daily hurdles—you'll find those same Norse echoes in my webcomic, Northman. While I’m busy planning my route to the Welsh roadside and dreaming of the peloton, my characters are navigating much more treacherous terrain through the rugged landscapes of Jorvikshire.

Read the latest chapter here: northman.kirt.me.uk

Check out my social media

For regular updates, behind-the-scenes content, and further reflections on my creative path (and perhaps a photo of me back on the bike!), connect with me on social media.

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ZERO HANGOVERS, TOLERANCE, AND SPACE

2026-01-17T11:30:00.007+00:00

ero-percent beers have been a total game-changer recently. Being able to head to the pub or share a drink with friends without the looming dread of a hangover or the logistics of driving is brilliant. I first blogged about this back in 2018 and followed up a year later, but the landscape has shifted so much since then.

I’ve always loved a beer, but I rarely partake because my hangovers are particularly brutal. Usually, I save my drinking for holidays or big nights out, and even then, I never take it to excess. That’s why I’ve become such an advocate for a good "zero" option. Last year, I tried Guinness 0.0, and honestly, it changed everything. It’s proof that you don't need the alcohol to enjoy the ritual.

A Small Victory Against the Machines

While the beer has been smooth, life lately has been a bit more "stop and start." Last week, Morticia went to a medical appointment at a clinic with an ANPR-controlled car park. As a Blue Badge holder, she’s entitled to free parking, but the system required her to manually enter her serial number into a touchscreen.

Despite several attempts, the system kept spitting out error messages. This isn’t a new hurdle—Rotherham Hospital uses a similar setup—but it’s incredibly frustrating when technology fails. When she told me about it, I emailed the parking company immediately. Their initial response was dismissive, essentially saying, "We don't issue the fines; just appeal it if a charge arrives in the post."

I wasn't having that. I replied stating that wasn't good enough and asked for the matter to be escalated. That did the trick: they responded quickly to say they had "whitelisted" our vehicle. It begs the question: why couldn't that have been the first response? We shall have to wait and see if they are true to their word.

Reclaiming the Sanctuary

Between bureaucratic battles and family life, my plans for last weekend went slightly awry. I had intended to spend time tidying my shed. If you don’t know, my shed is my sanctuary; it’s where my bikes live, where I have my workspace, and a small altar where I meditate to clear my mind.

Since just before Yule, it’s become a bit of a dumping ground for "stuff" that needs sorting. I promised myself this would never happen to my space, and this is the first time since I built it that the clutter has taken over. I’d planned to tackle it last weekend, but I ended up babysitting my grandson for most of the time instead.

I love the family time, but I’ve realised how much I need that space back to stay centred. This weekend, I’m making it a priority—without fail!

If you appreciate the atmospheric grit of northern life—and the resilience it takes to navigate its daily hurdles—you'll find those same Norse echoes in my webcomic, Northman. While I'm busy reclaiming my sanctuary and treading the bureaucratic paths of South Yorkshire, my characters are navigating much more treacherous terrain through the landscapes of Jorvikshire.

Read the latest chapter here: northman.kirt.me.uk

Check out my social media

For regular updates, behind-the-scenes content, and further reflections on my creative path (and perhaps a photo of a tidy shed!), connect with me on social media.

Instagram ● Threads

BlueSky ● TikTok

HOW TO GET A HEAD OF THE STORM

2026-01-09T11:17:00.003+00:00

hite landscapes have dominated the national news this week, with friends in New Quay and reporters in Whitby sharing scenes of a winter kingdom; and yet, South Yorkshire has stayed resolutely clear. It feels as though the rest of the country has been blanketed in a crisp layer of frost and flake, while our little corner remains stubbornly grey. Perhaps the Pennines have acted as a giant stone shield, deflecting the drifts elsewhere and leaving us in a snowy 'shadow'.

Wednesday morning, however, brought a different kind of chill. This (see photo below) is what greeted me when I headed for my pre-shift shower; safe to say, I jumped out of my skin. She’s been doing the rounds lately, appearing like a ghostly hitchhiker in different corners of the building. I’ve no idea where she originated, but she fits right in with our office tradition of collecting the weird and the bizarre—joining the ranks of our stuffed otter and the papier-mâché dog.

By Thursday morning, however, my 'snow-free' luck seemed to be running out. With Storm Goretti looming and the Met Office upgrading warnings across South Yorkshire, the promise of significant snowfall made the decision for me. I wasn’t prepared to play chicken with an amber weather warning on two wheels; so, back to the bus I went, opting for the slow but steady commute over a battle with the elements.

True to the forecast, the snow began to settle around 6pm. Up here at the top of the hill, my workplace is always the first to succumb; if it’s snowing anywhere, this place gets it bad. Watching the ground vanish under a white sheet while I was still mid-shift certainly added a sharp sense of urgency to the evening.

As my shift finally drew to a close, the snow grew thicker and more relentless, fully vindicating my decision to leave the bike at home. Stepping out into the biting air, I managed to scramble onto a bus, though the driver’s confidence seemed to be thinning as fast as the visibility. When he asked how far I was going, it was clear he didn't fancy his chances of making it all the way to the opposite side of town; thankfully, I only needed the city centre, which was still just about within reach.

The transition in the centre meant a fifteen-minute wait for my connection back to Rotherham. Down here, the snow wasn’t quite settling yet, which gave me some hope that the service would still be running. Right on cue, the bus appeared through the gloom, and I was safely transported the rest of the way home, watching the world transform into a winter wonderland from behind the glass.

When I finally arrived home, there was little point in taking my coat off; Magnus was already at the door, vibrating with excitement for his daily walk. By now, the snow was coming down thick and fast, turning the street into a blur of white. But with the worry of the journey behind me, we were finally free to just head out and enjoy it.

The following morning wasn't quite as dramatic as I’d imagined it might be. While a layer of white covered the neighbourhood, it mostly meant I had a job to do. As a volunteer snow warden, I have responsibility for the footpaths on our cul-de-sac (which makes the road sound far posher than it actually is).

There wasn't any heavy digging required this time, but a generous sprinkling of rock salt was definitely in order. Two large bags later, the paths were safe for the neighbours to navigate. All that’s left now is to email the council to replenish my stocks—and wait to see what the rest of the week brings.

If you appreciate the atmospheric grit of a northern winter—and the resilience it takes to navigate it—you'll find those same Norse echoes in my webcomic, Northman. While I'm busy salting the footpaths of South Yorkshire, my characters are treading much more treacherous paths through the landscapes of the Danelaw.

Read the latest chapter here: northman.kirt.me.uk

Check out my social media

For regular updates, behind-the-scenes content, and more personal reflections on my Midwinter Path, connect with me on social media.

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N PLUS 1

2026-01-07T09:00:00.002+00:00

know, I know—everyone is likely tired of hearing about my cycling collision. But the truth is, if it weren’t for that moment back in November, I wouldn't be sitting here with a new bike. My old one is only three years old and perfectly repairable, so why the upgrade?

It comes down to a bit of a stalemate. While I’m currently seeking redress from the driver, I’m not in a position to front the repair costs myself. However, I could manage a small, tax-free monthly payment. Enter the Cycle to Work scheme—and my unexpected new arrival.

It turned up the day after Boxing Day; I’d actually been expecting it around the New Year, so the early delivery was a pleasant surprise. The real issue was the frame. Contrary to the website description, it lacked eyelets on the seat stays for a rack, so I had to scramble to source an adapter.

After swapping the tyres for something more robust and puncture-resistant, I spent some time sorting the tech. I’ll be riding without the rear radar I’ve relied on for 15 years, and I’m still hoping to find an old camera to replace the one lost in the crash. With everything finally assembled, I was ready for the inaugural ride—I just hoped my back was up to the task.

The night before, it snowed—though only for a few minutes. As I lay in bed with my back screaming at me, I couldn't help but wonder: was the universe trying to tell me something?

When morning came, it was pitch black and the thermometer had dropped to a biting 1°C (with a feels like temperatureof -2°C). I was filled with doubt. I gave serious thought to cancelling. Was it too cold? Would my back hold up? I was completely undecided until the very last minute... and then, suddenly, I wasn't.

I set off gingerly into the freezing darkness, heading towards the neighbouring city and my workplace. My anxiety was high; every time a vehicle passed, I felt flashes of that night two months ago. I kept a steady pace, finding that the off-road sections were actually fun and—to my relief—my back felt fine despite the chill.

From the halfway point, the route begins a steady climb. Having not ridden for two months, and having fully enjoyed the excesses of the festive period, I questioned if I could manage the ascent. Thankfully, my legs still had it in them. I arrived at work on time and, more importantly, without incident.

The ride home was shadowed by similar fears, but I pushed through. When I finally pulled up to my front door, I couldn't help myself—I punched the air.

Getting back on the saddle felt like more than just a commute; it was a personal test of the path I’m travelling. My spiritual side gave me the resilience required to face a freezing morning, and those echoes of a past collision are exactly what fuels me.

If you appreciate the atmosphere of the northern landscape and the grit of the winter months, you'll find those same Norse echoes in my webcomic, Northman.

Read the latest chapter here: northman.kirt.me.uk

Check out my social media

For regular updates, behind-the-scenes content, and more personal reflections on my Midwinter Path, connect with me on social media.

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HAPPY NEW YEAR 2026

2026-01-01T12:33:00.430+00:00

he year, with all its sound and fury, has settled into memory, and now we face a new one. What will 2026 bring? It feels like only yesterday we were raising a glass to the new millennium, brimming with dreams we can barely recall now.

But let's anchor ourselves back to the present: Yule is drawing to a close. Before the inevitable return to routine, I want to take a moment to share the quiet observations, the small joys, and the reflections that made up my week before looking at the year ahead.

In thirty years, I’ve never had a job that gives me the entire festive period off, and honestly, I’ve never had a problem with that. This year, the return for my two shifts arrived as expected. As with most roles, some days are better than others, and the best ones are usually when it’s quiet in the 'office'. Because I don’t often write about my work, I haven’t previously mentioned my best friend there; she’s worked alongside me for about nine years now, and we make quite a team. 'Keeks' is a wonderful friend, and we have that rare understanding of exactly how the other works. For the shifts I worked this week, it was just the two of us in. With half the team on rest days and the others on leave, we were at minimum staffing—but at least we got to enjoy the quiet at our own pace.

Working through the festive period doesn't mean the celebrations are over; for me, work is simply a pause. We continued to eat, drink, and be merry—purposefully ignoring the outside world for twelve whole days. Now, however, we are in the process of winding it all down. Soon the decorations will be packed away and our home will revert to its familiar self. As we return to our own particular 'normal', we still have a long winter ahead of us. But that is exactly what Yule and Christmas are for: to remind us that even through the darkest of times, we always have friends and family to depend on.

We had no grand plans to celebrate the passing of the year, so after I returned from work, we ate and settled down in front of the TV. I sat with Morticia, while our daughter, Rags, was there with her boyfriend, Liam. Little Atreus, our grandson, was in the middle of it all as we watched the usual New Year’s Eve telly. We also spent some time on a video call with our other daughter, Harley, and her husband, Josh, so they could be part of the evening too. As midnight approached, we each gathered our drinks and stood, waiting tentatively for that familiar chime. Then, as Big Ben struck the hour and the fireworks erupted, it was done—2025 was consigned to history, and 2026 had begun.

One tradition I always uphold on New Year’s night is lighting a fire to say a few private words to the gods and spirits. It was a bit of a challenge to get started this time—the biting cold made the wood stubborn to catch—but there is something grounding about tending a flame in the dark. It felt like the right way to settle into the year ahead.

On New Year’s Day, we feast for a final time with a meal akin to the grand spread of Christmas Day. It is our way of closing the season with intention—performing a ritual to honour those we lost in the previous year and to whisper our promises to the new one.

I’ve never been particularly keen on the term 'resolution'; it feels so final and, well, resolute. I much prefer 'goal'. We should be aiming for progress rather than perfection—focusing on achievement without the weight of promises or judgement. So, with that in mind, it’s time to review how I got on with last year’s goals:

1. Cycling for fun needs to happen.

As many of you know, my cycling year didn’t end quite as planned. In fact, it came to a very abrupt halt on the 5th of November when I was hit by a car. While I’d set a goal to get out on more leisure rides this year, it didn't quite materialise. Instead, it was the daily commute that kept my wheels turning—and I still count that as a win because it’s time spent doing something I love.

I was well on course to beat last year’s total, but even with two months missing from the calendar, I’m proud of the progress. After all, any time in the saddle is a victory.

2. I need more social, getting out and having a bit of fun.

Time hasn’t been my friend and money hasn't been much of a companion lately, which has left my social life feeling a little dry. However, we did manage three trips to Wales, where we certainly made up for it. Those escapes provided the perfect antidote to a quiet year at home.

3. I want to take time and do more rituals, expanding my spiritual side.

For a long time, my spirituality was a private matter, kept strictly out of sight. Now, I’m at a point in my life where I’m happy to let that side of me breathe, regardless of outside opinion. It’s been a year of performing more rituals and really delving into my inner self. I’ve even added a small outdoor altar to the mix to complement the one I have indoors—I’ve affectionately named it 'The Henge'.

So, it’s time to set this year’s goals. No promises, no pressure—just a direction to head in:

1. Prioritise the 'Outdoors': Whether it’s walking the dog, riding the bike for pure fun, or just finding a quiet moment in the fresh air—I need to just get out more.
2. Reconnect: I want to socialise more this year. That means popping to the pub, meeting up with friends, and making time for those important date nights.
3. Sanctuary at Home: My goal is to continue making our home an enjoyable, relaxing space—a true retreat from the world.

The decorations may be coming down, but the light we’ve gathered over these twelve days stays with us. Here’s to a year of steady pedalling, deeper rituals, and finding the joy in the small, everyday wins.

My spiritual side and my creative side are two sides of the same coin. If you enjoyed hearing about 'The Henge' and my Yule rituals, you'll find those same Norse echoes in my webcomic, Northman.

Read the latest chapter here: northman.kirt.me.uk

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THE MIDPOINT OF MY YULE

2025-12-28T16:30:00.331+00:00

hile many feel the festive spirit starts to fade as soon as the Boxing Day leftovers are cleared, those who celebrate Yule know the magic is only just beginning. Far from being a fleeting moment, Yule is a season that carries us through the heart of winter, with celebrations continuing well into the New Year. As we reach the midpoint of this ancient festival, I wanted to pause and share a recap of my journey through Yule so far.

A New Start on Two Wheels

Just before Yule I applied for the Cycle to Work scheme, and with the voucher now issued, I’ll soon be the recipient of a shiny new bike to replace the one damaged in my collision back in November. I’d weighed up my options and decided that waiting for the legal claim to be settled would be a massive waste of time; similarly, funding the repairs myself—especially at this time of year—wasn't a viable option. I’ve settled on a Giant Contend 2, as it perfectly fits my brief: a solid, reliable bike with affordable components that will keep future maintenance costs manageable.

Midwinter in Sheffield

On Midwinter night, I met up with my best friend, Ian, in Sheffield. It had been far too long since our last catch-up, but we’ve been friends for so many years that when we do get together, it feels as though no time has passed at all. We met at The Fargate—a new pub in an old bank building where I probably signed my mortgage papers once upon a time. From family life to Star Trek, we covered all sorts. It was a wonderful evening, and it’s made me realise I want to ensure we meet up much more often.

The Build-up

Our eldest daughter, Harley, popped over on the 23rd to exchange gifts and catch up. It feels like it's been far too long since we last saw her. I cooked pie and chips for the two of us—though Morticia had something else, as pie isn't really her thing—before her younger sister gave her a lift home.

I've worked many Christmas Eves over the years, and they are usually quite dull affairs. There was a small gift exchange with my work best friend, Keeley, but other than that, not much happened. Even the arrival of two new trainees didn't liven things up, though we did manage to get away about an hour early. There was plenty of prep waiting for me at home since we were hosting a crowd for the big day. As our grandson lives with us—along with his mum, our youngest daughter Rags, and his dad—getting everything ready for a magical morning was a top priority.

Christmas Day

And so Christmas morning arrived. As is the case every morning, I was awake before anyone else. I let Magnus out of his bed and he seemed genuinely excited, bolting upstairs to jump on Morticia before charging back down again; perhaps he knew 'Santa Paws' had been.

Before long, the whole family was up and the gift-giving ritual began. Atreus was a little overwhelmed and confused by it all, but he’s still a bit too young to truly grasp the festive chaos.

Once the gifts were exchanged, I was dispatched to Conisbrough to collect my mother-in-law. I don't usually venture out on Christmas Day—aside from walking the dog—but this was for a noble cause. This was her first Christmas without her partner, who passed away earlier this year, and we wanted to make sure she was with us. We had a proper full house this year, with Morticia’s brother also joining us, making seven at the table. The food was amazing; it truly is the highlight of the season.

As the evening rolled around, Morticia’s mother and brother headed home, but we were soon joined by her step-sister and sons for our usual tradition of drinks, nibbles, and card games. As the night drew to a close, we all reflected on what had been a wonderful day. But Yule is about the whole festive period, and tomorrow is just as important, albeit in a different way.

The Celebration Continues

Boxing Day and the days that follow are a quiet continuation of the festivities; we eat, drink, and relax while working our way through the seasonal TV specials. Of course, this can sometimes be a challenge with four adults and a young child all sharing the relatively small space of our house. It’s why I treasure those early mornings before anyone else is awake—that time spent on my own is absolute gold.

While I return to work for a couple of shifts from the 30th, I’m looking forward to a few more days afterwards to properly conclude our Yule celebrations. For now, the feast continues and the drinks are flowing! I hope your own celebrations are full of joy, and I send you the very best blessings of the season.

See you back here on the first day of the New Year.

Read the latest chapter of my webcomic here: northman.kirt.me.uk

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THE CAPTAIN'S ANNUAL YULETIDE MESSAGE AND AWARDS

2025-12-25T15:00:00.689+00:00

very year, at the same time as the monarch delivers their message to the Commonwealth, I post my message to the world. This year is no different... except it is. I always write about the highs and lows of the year, but this time, I’ve decided to frame my annual review as an awards ceremony.

Life is certainly challenging, and sometimes it feels like I get more than my fair share (though I know that’s not strictly true—social media certainly has a habit of showing only the best bits). This year has been full of both highs and lows. The highs have been particularly good, such as our three visits to our happy place (including one to celebrate a special friend's milestone birthday), seeing our grandson's progress, and enjoying Viking fun in York for Jorvik. The lows are difficult to relive: the bike crash, car difficulties, and other things I’m not willing to dwell on. Yet, lessons are always learned, and we all get a year older.

But before we move on to the categories, it’s time to reflect. And I'm doing it this year by presenting this:

This is a "Captain," and I'll be presenting it to the best and sometimes the worst moments of the year.

Life & Reflection—Life, Lessons, and Laughs

The Memorable Moment Award

This year, back in July, saw our good friend and Welsh legend, Mike, celebrate his 80th birthday. We were honoured as a family to be invited to the party to celebrate with his other friends and family. We had a marvellous weekend of fun, which included a rare boat trip where we saw dolphins—a first in over twenty years of visiting New Quay! It was a truly unforgettable weekend that I will always cherish.

But some moments weren't just about fun; some were about growth.

The Levelling Up Award – What made me grow this year

Atreus's first birthday and naming ceremony was a massive personal honour. I was asked to perform a Norse Pagan naming ceremony in front of family and friends, which meant revealing my spiritual side to my nearest and dearest. Getting to share this part of myself while celebrating my grandson made performing his naming ceremony one of the most memorable moments of the entire year.

Of course, growth often comes through struggle, which leads us to a tougher category...

The Trial by Fire Award – Challenges and how they shaped me

I would have chosen the mental anguish that our previous car caused, but this was trumped at the last moment by the recovery I had to endure following my bike crash. I initially thought I could be facing something life-changing or devastating. However, even following the actual diagnosis, the road back to full recovery was challenging and painful.

The Proud (or Smug) Award – Wins big or small

I generally have very little to be proud or smug about this year, so I’ve decided to award this to my reinvigorated blog. I've managed a gentle re-design, and have successfully increased and improved (I certainly hope!) the content. Most importantly, engagement is up, and I’m genuinely happier about the entire project.

Pagan & Spiritual Life—

Magic, Signs, and Seasonal Vibes

The Sacred Moment Award – Rituals, walks, quiet insights, omens

My visit to Pentre Ifan burial chamber was truly magical. The energy radiating from this location was something unlike anything I've ever experienced before, giving me a moment of profound quiet insight.

Season of the Year – Which festival or seasonal moment resonated most

This year I was lucky enough to be in New Quay (Cei Newydd) for Midsummer, which made the Solstice extra special. Being in a place where we feel so spiritually aligned meant we truly maximised the day and received so much profound insight from the experience.

Deity or Spirit of the Year – Who/what kept showing up

I definitely opened up to my Celtic side this year, perhaps heavily influenced by our frequent stops in Bala by Llyn Tegid. I have certainly felt the pull and deep influence of Ceridwen. Travelling through her lands, touching the waters of the lake, and breathing the air of Cymru (Wales) has been transformative. I am currently reading as much as I can about her.

Creative & Online Life—

Words, Webcomics, and Digital Adventures

Blog Post of the Year – Favourite post or most-read.

My blog is currently going through a bit of a resurgence. While this doesn't mean it's going viral, engagement is definitely up, especially during the second half of the year. This year’s best-performing post was "SOUL REPLENISHMENT AND A STORMY FAREWELL."

It chronicles a restorative week-long trip to Wales, which I described as a "perfect" mission of relaxation. Highlights included a long, reflective walk to Cwmtydu Beach where I spotted a seal, and trips to New Quay and local pubs. The week culminated in a dramatic contrast between peaceful soul-replenishment and the turbulent reality of driving home through Storm Amy, affirming my deep and spiritual connection to Wales.

Speaking of creation, it's time to recognise the strip that was the most fun to bring to life.

Webcomic of the Year – Favourite story or strip to create

This was a tough choice, but my favourite has to be the one that reflected (albeit loosely) a real-life event. This was a three-part strip published back in July and set in Wales.

The story chronicles our hero and his Welsh mate in a search for a hidden chamber, making it a really fun and personal piece to create and share. Check it out here.

Life Happens—Chaos, Comfort, and TV

The Thing That Broke Award – Things that went wrong

Although the constant issues we were having with our previous car caused significant stress, I think the winner was pipped at the last moment by the incident of being hit by a car whilst cycling. The resulting injury kept me off my feet and off my bike for quite a while. That is definitely an experience I don't fancy repeating.

It wasn't all bad luck though; this next award reminds us of the small moments that lifted the mood.

The Made Me Smile Award – What kept me going.

Back in February, I was sat in the Valhalla bar, York, during the Jorvik Viking Festival. The place was buzzing—a mixture of festival-goers, tourists, and regulars, all chatting and enjoying the vibe. I was sitting opposite Morticia when a lady approached me and asked if she could photograph the back of my jacket. My jacket (well, vest, actually) is my pride and joy—it has "NORTHMAN" emblazoned across the shoulders. She chatted with us, asking whether this was my 'look' or just for the festival. I proudly explained that this was simply how I dressed: it is my look. It's great to be validated, to receive a compliment—it definitely made me smile.

The Tellybox Award – Favourite TV / streaming

Toxic Town, Ludwig, Doctor Who, and Star Trek: Strange New Worlds were all in the running for this. Bear in mind there are other fantastic telly offerings I've simply not seen—I do have to work, you know! But after some careful thought, I’ve decided to award this gong to the programme that has given me the most consistent pleasure: QI. This comedy panel show has done more for my education than school ever did. We are currently up to series W (if you aren't familiar, each series is themed around a different letter of the alphabet).

Special Category

The End of an Era Award–

A tribute to something that reached its natural conclusion this year

This award must go to our old Fiat. Although the car troubles contributed to the stress I felt this year, it faithfully carried our family on countless trips to our happy place over many years. The journey back from Mike's 80th birthday, with the dashboard lit up like a Christmas tree, was sadly its final trip. It's not often I get attached to a car, but saying goodbye to that metal box and all the memories it holds definitely feels like the end of an era.

Closing the Year

The past year has flown by, as they tend to do. Overall, my year has been a pretty positive one, despite the issues. The highs included three trips to my favourite place, Cei Newydd (New Quay), enjoying the Jorvik festival, seeing Bradley Wiggins, and receiving an extra special birthday gift from my family—the gift of nostalgia, in the form of a recreation of the computer I spent my youth playing with. Then there is family: my beloved wife and daughters, my Grandson who fills me with joy every single day, and, of course, my lovely dog, Magnus.

Sure, there has been bad stuff, plenty of it. Morticia has had a difficult time with the loss of family and friends, facing many funerals and sad goodbyes. The old car caused a lot of heartache, work shift changes didn't pan out as I'd hoped, and being hit by a car definitely dampened things. But that's life: ups and downs. While there were no major milestones this year, there was some unfinished business. Our silver wedding anniversary passed last year without any real celebrations, so we made our first trip to New Quay this year our anniversary gift to ourselves—we even got complimentary tattoos to mark the occasion.

This year, I've reinvigorated my blog and website. I've become disillusioned with social media and come to the conclusion that having control over your own content is everything. I continue to create new, original webcomics—over 350 created over seven years, published on my website and the socials—and I’m still waiting for my big break! I would like to thank everyone who has taken the time to read my work, and especially those who have taken the time to comment. I value every interaction and count you all as friends. Ultimately, compiling these awards has been a valuable exercise in finding the light amidst the challenges.

Well, that was the last year. It's almost over save the celebrations of Yule, and I do hope you all are enjoying the festivities. Whether you celebrate this time or not, I will still raise my drinking horn to you all. But what about 2026? I'll cover that in my New Year post. It leaves me just to say...

Read the latest chapter of my webcomic here: northman.kirt.me.uk

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THE RIDE OF ODIN: MY MIDWINTER PATH

2025-12-21T16:30:00.038+00:00

t this silent, sacred point, the deepest dark has arrived. It is the halfway point through the darkness, a sacred pause that reminds us new life is promised. Soon, the cold will yield to warmth as Cernunnos arrives to awaken the world with vibrant colour and life.

This is the time of The Wild Hunt, when spirits and the unquiet dead set out, led by Odin on his steed, Sleipnir. An offering is left outside to appease the hunters as we stay inside safe. The Hunt itself is a metaphor for a profound, necessary cleansing: by gathering the spirits of the dead and driving out the stagnation of the old year, we clear the way for the returning sun. It represents the necessity of chaos and destruction before rebirth can occur. Therefore, within the sanctuary of the hearth, we reflect on the past year and make our sacred oaths for the new year.

Our celebration starts here and extends through the Twelve Days of Yule. We honour our family and friends, finding time for both solemn reflection and joyful feasting. Although I do have days I have to work, the rest of the time will be spent together with the most important people in my world, and with our Ancestors who walk the next plane.

With this deep sense of renewal and connection, I leave you with my best wishes and blessings for this, the most important time of the year. My next post will be my traditional Yuletide Address to the world, scheduled to drop precisely as the King addresses the Commonwealth.

If you enjoyed the mention of Yule traditions, the spirit of the ancient calendar, and the echoes of Viking lore in this post, why not delve deeper into my fantasy world? Follow the adventures of "Northman"—a webcomic loosely based on my life and sprinkled with bold action and Norse inspiration.

Read the latest chapter here: northman.kirt.me.uk

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Connect with me for regular updates, behind-the-scenes content, and more personal reflections on my Midwinter Path!

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BACK PAIN, BIKE DREAMS, AND A SECRET SANTA SIGH

2025-12-18T15:00:00.030+00:00

t’s a slow and deliberate process, but I am truly trying my best to settle back into a normal life and, to some degree, I’m succeeding. The persistent back pain, however, still accompanies me most of the time, which is incredibly annoying. I cannot wait for the day I can ditch the tiresome bus commute and get back in the saddle; my bike is calling to me.

I submitted the claim for my losses earlier this month, but if I’m honest, I think the process will take ages, and that’s not going to help me get back on the road any sooner. I had been considering getting a new bike from the Cycle to Work Scheme, which usually runs early in the new year. Then I read on the intranet that the scheme is to start running continuously throughout the year. So, the big question is: do I take the plunge and go new now?

The Tutoring "Volun-told"

This week at work, we are welcoming a couple of new trainees to our team. I’ve been told (rather than asked, mind you) that I’ll be tutoring one of them. Over the years, I’ve mentored many people who have gone on to have very successful careers, but the role has changed. These days, it’s not just about showing them the ropes; there’s a mountain of complex assessments and reports to complete. It’s a level of extra admin work that I really could do without right now.

Morale and Missed Connections

General morale at work has been pretty low lately. There’s a lot of uncertainty floating around, and the atmosphere isn't exactly great. The festive night out was likely designed to bring everyone together, but unfortunately, due to my ongoing injuries, I just didn't feel up to attending. It’s frustrating when the body won't let you join in.

The Secret Santa Surprise

We did, however, have our Secret Santa this week. The team took an hour out to try and inject some festive spirit into the daily grind. I’m usually a bit wary of Secret Santa—I often feel my colleagues don’t know me as well as they might think—but this year was actually alright.

I ended up with a "Grumpy Old Man" sign (the folding type cleaners use for wet floors), a set of bicycle stabilisers—clearly a cheeky nod to my recent crash—and a book titled HR APPROVED WAYS TO TELL COWORKERS THEY ARE STUPID. The gift I gave seemed to go down well, too. We all brought in food for a buffet in the staff room, which gave us something to nibble on throughout the day.

The Great Turkey Hunt

Morticia and I spent an afternoon dashing around the supermarkets this week to stock up on festive food. Usually, we’d order a turkey in advance, but this year we decided to just pick up a frozen one. Big mistake. They were nowhere to be found—at least not in any of the shops we tried! We eventually managed to secure a turkey crown, so the main event is saved, though I’m more than happy we have some beef as well, as I actually prefer it. There are still a few bits left to get, so Morticia will be heading to the markets with her Dad on the 24th to grab the veg.

Yuletide Traditions

On a brighter note, I’ve managed to arrange my annual get-together with my best mate, Ian. Because of my work schedule, I’m tied up for most of the "premium" evenings—though, to be honest, "Mad Friday" isn't quite as wild as it used to be anyway. We’ve opted for a Sunday afternoon meetup instead. It suits me much better as I’ll likely need to sit down more often, and it’ll be great to properly catch up.

Finding the Balance

While I’ve managed to carve out some quality time for family and friends, I’ll still be working my shifts throughout the Yuletide period. It isn't a 'break' in the traditional sense where everything stops for a fortnight, but I’m looking forward to those pockets of downtime where I can actually relax. It’s about finding the balance between the daily grind and the Yuletide cheer.

If you enjoyed the mention of Yuletide traditions and the spirit of the ancient calendar in this post, why not delve deeper into my fantasy world?

Just as I’ve been navigating workplace "gifts" and supermarket chaos, my webcomic "Northman" has taken a darker, satirical turn with a Krampus-inspired adventure. Loosely based on my life and heavily seasoned with Viking lore, it explores what happens when ancient legends meet modern addictions. If you've ever felt like the "medium has become the medium," this chapter is for you.

Read the latest chapter here: northman.kirt.me.uk

Check out my social media

Connect with me for regular updates, behind-the-scenes content, and more personal reflections!

Instagram ● Threads

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