I’m a 39-year-old physical education teacher living in the heart of the Scottish countryside, where the air is crisp and the company—two golden labradors, steadfast and joyous—makes every day an adventure. My days are spent encouraging young minds to embrace fitness—or at the very least tolerate it. I’m well aware that most people have pre-lesson memories of being forced to run laps under the disapproving glare of a teacher snug in a warm coat, shouting instructions like an unkind wind. Rest assured, I’m slightly less terrifying and far less of a hypocrite—though only slightly.

Outside of work, I’ve rekindled an old flame with the gym. It’s a relationship marked by effort, very infrequent triumphs, and a hint of desperation against an ever-fading metabolism. You know, the sort of “will-they-won’t-they” dynamic that makes you question your stamina, sanity, and whether it’s all really making an aesthetic difference. But we’re back on, and I’m determined not to let it ghost me again (that’s what the kids say, right?). With renewed strength and a fortified spirit, I find myself revitalized and ready to face whatever life throws my way.

Just like everyone else, I spend countless hours mindlessly watching television and questioning why I’m procrastinating rather than becoming a billionaire. Give me a suspenseful crime drama, and I’ll find myself engrossed in every twist and turn. Though, if I’m being honest, nothing beats a weekend of putting my feet up and watching football—the real kind, where you use your foot to kick a ball.

When I’m not scaling hills or breaking a sweat, I also enjoy writing. It’s my creative escape, though I’ll admit my pen-and-paper scribblings won’t rival Shakespearean sonnets any time soon. Think less timeless masterpiece and more rambling thoughts with questionable punctuation. Still, it’s satisfying to spin tales, even if they wander like a stream that’s forgotten where it’s headed.

I roam the countryside with my loyal labradors. Together, we traverse sprawling fields, splash through rivers, and climb hills that seem to grow steeper with every visit. Over time, the sheep have grown to trust us enough to pass through without any drama, and the cows often approach the gate as if to say good morning—a cheerful greeting that never fails to brighten the day. Our adventures may not impress the livestock, but to us, they are grand nonetheless.

If you’ve read this far, congratulations—you’ve unlocked unlimited dog photos. Just ask nicely, and my labradors and I will deliver.

At 39, I’ve reached that perfect age where I injure myself by sneezing too enthusiastically, openly admit I’m too old to use TikTok, and still complain about modern trends just to keep things interesting.

If you enjoy the quiet joys of country life or the occasional creative scribbling, feel free to drop me a line. Who knows where a good conversation might lead?