The Psychology of My Pristine Motor: A Reflection on Human Frailty, BMWs, and Bin Juice.

There’s a moment—right after I’ve signed the paperwork, shaken hands with a man called Gareth who smells faintly of dealership coffee, and slid into the cockpit of my brand new pride and joy—where I genuinely believe I’ve cracked life. The cabin is immaculate. The plastics are unmolested. The carpets are virginal. The smell is so … Read more

My Chat With AI: Apocalypse, Moonpig Cards, and Huddersfield Parking

A Kirkeytalk enquiry into our impending doom, Moonpig cards, and Huddersfield Town parking logistics. Some commentators insist Artificial Intelligence (AI) is about to sweep across the planet like a digital plague, leaving humanity redundant, purposeless, and possibly extinct. If you’re struggling to imagine this dystopian future, simply revisit James Cameron’s The Terminator — a film … Read more

How I Ended Up in an FA Autobiography (By Accident): Time for the Police to Correct the Record

Catching up with my old mucker John, he casually dropped a bombshell: apparently we feature in David Davies’ autobiographical romp FA Confidential: Sex, Drugs and Penalties. The Inside Story of English Football. Henry Winter’s review in The Daily Telegraph retells Davies’ version – a late night knock at his Burnham Beeches hotel door during Euro … Read more

Adios Bracknell (Again): False Teeth, Harry Potter & The Sunset Exit (part 3 of 3)

The last leg of my walk was a greatest hits album of Bracknell absurdity: burglars with bin bags, missing false teeth, Harry Potter film sets, and a showdown with a bloke known as “Half a Thumb.” But tucked between the madness were the moments that mattered — the ones that stitched my life together. One … Read more

Adios Bracknell (Again): Robbers, Hopscotch & Things That Go Crunch in the Night (part 2 of 3)

If Part One was the warm up lap, this is where the memories start sprinting. Bracknell in the 80s wasn’t just a place — it was a full contact sport. Robberies, dodgy motors, youth clubs, blasting The Specials, and me trying to look competent in a Vauxhall Chevette that handled like a shopping trolley with … Read more

The Crying Game

In my later years I’ve become a seasoned crier – not just at football, but in the full, messy, human sprawl of life. Films, family moments, unexpected kindness, the odd existential wobble… they can all set me off. Sure, I’ve shed a tear or two at matches over the years, but I’m not the sort … Read more