Ahoy fellow digital wanderers,

I am a 38-year-old Scotsman who moonlights as a PE teacher by day, but when that school bell rings, I become a dog enthusiast by night. I live on a farm (that's not mine, so no back-breaking labour), a far cry from city living, but offers a scenic backdrop of fields, hills, and rivers for my Labradors – my furry sidekicks in my modest life set in the enchanting Scottish Countryside. I'm quite the hiker; Scotland's hills have felt my footsteps.

Appearance update: we all want to know really. My head, once a beacon of style, now inevitably shaved due to an evacuating hairline. The facial hair? A daily struggle between hipster Viking aspirations, hasty trims due to impatience, then instant regret, and repeat. And being Scottish, that OBVIOUSLY also includes me wearing a kilt, playing the bagpipes as I serenade the Loch Ness monster to sleep.

Now, as I navigate the intriguing chapter of ageing, the age-defying gym battles (few times a week, blame the winterish darkness for the current dip in form), I'm not winning this current battle, but the war against the waistline post-retirement from competitive sports ⚽ rages on.

Enter my newfound passion for the winter season – writing. It's not Dickens, not even that Shakespearean jibberish - more like creative chaos in literary form. Having dipped my toes into the realm of published works, I'm currently playing around with my next literary escapade, filled with quirks and characters that stumble off the pages.

As I write this, I've just been outside, collecting wood, and started a fire to pass the cold, Scottish evening, making a new friend. Consider this a peek into the world of a Scottish dreamer, seeking a new vice. Share your misadventures or just brace yourself for unsolicited dog photos – deal?

Cheers