Month: December 2025

The excitement in the air is palpable. What a privilege it is to spend Christmas with grandchildren—a second chance to relive all those special Christmases with your own children.

At the same time, it’s right to reflect on family we cannot be with due to distance, and those who made our own childhood Christmases so special but are no longer with us. It feels like the perfect moment to wish you and yours a peaceful Christmas and an extraordinary New Year.

God bless you.

My grandson Lincoln (fifth from the left) received his runners-up medal for the second year in a row. I wasn’t there to see the final itself, but I did make it to the semi-final — a tense family showdown where Lincoln’s team faced off against his cousin Alex’s team. It was one of those odd sporting occasions where the grandparents were cheering for both the winners and the losers at the very same time. Proud of them all. 💛

So, Friday came and went, and the weekend has been… well, pretty normal — if you count living in your front garden as normal. In theory, tomorrow morning should be the moment when things start to feel a little strange. The alarm not buzzing, the familiar pull towards work not having it’s usual effect. But if I’m honest, I’ve got such a busy schedule lined up that I don’t think I’ll have much time to miss the routine of heading off to work.

It’s a funny thing, leaving a place after such a long time. There are always those who won’t miss you — and who are quite happy for you to know it — and then there are those who you assume won’t miss you, but somehow that still stings a little when it becomes clear. Human nature, I suppose.

Then there are the closest colleagues. The ones who don’t say too much, not because they don’t care, but because saying too much might open the door to a few tears. No words are really needed there — there’s a shared understanding that sits quietly between you.

Most moving of all, though, are the moments you never saw coming. The people you didn’t realise you’d had any impact on, who take the time to say thank you, and who show genuine sadness that you’re moving on. Those conversations linger. They remind you that, in ways both big and small, your time mattered.

And that, more than anything, feels like a good way to close one chapter and begin the next.

One week to go. Friday the 12th December will be my last day at CurtainWorld, and it still feels a little surreal to write that down. Last night was the company’s 2025 Christmas Party — my final one — and it brought home the reality of this transition in a way that nothing else has.

I’ve spent so much time lately looking ahead, preparing for the future Debbie and I are carving out for ourselves, that I hadn’t really paused to think about what I’m stepping away from. I have no doubt that leaving is the right decision for us, especially with everything happening early next year, but standing there with the whole team together… well, it does make you take stock.

The speeches, the good wishes, the laughs shared with people I’ve worked alongside for years — it all reminded me how big a chunk of life a workplace becomes. It’s not just a job; it’s routines, friendships, stories, and a chapter that quietly shapes you while you’re busy getting on with things. As this final week begins,

I’m grateful. Grateful for the years, the people, the memories — and grateful to be stepping into this next phase of life with confidence, purpose, and a sense of calm. An era ends, yes, but a new one is already waiting just on the other side of Friday.

This afternoon most of the family — grandchildren included — headed out to Ellenbrook for a Christmas concert performed by the Hills Symphony Orchestra. It wasn’t the first time I’ve seen them, and certainly not the first time they’ve impressed me. In fact, the very first concert I attended absolutely blew me away; the quality, passion and sheer dedication of the musicians was unforgettable. Every performance since has been just as captivating.

But today felt a little different. With the festive music, the costumes, and that unmistakable December excitement in the air, I found myself especially moved. Sitting before us was an enthusiastic mix of mothers, grandmothers, fathers, grandfathers, sons and daughters — people from every walk of life — gathered not for fame, fortune or accolades, but for the simple love of making music together.

Half an hour earlier, the venue was just an empty room. Then in walked this group of talented, creative people, and suddenly the space transformed. As they began to play, the sound was incredible. And when the final note faded, we were left once again with an empty room, as if the whole experience had been a wonderful dream.

Watching this unlikely collection of individuals, united by nothing more than passion and community, was impressive enough. But when I closed my eyes and let the music take over, I was transported somewhere else entirely — another world — and I liked it.