Bye Bye Fatman, Hereford, Herefordshire (2025)

22/07/2025

Food and Nutrition (O-Level Style)
Or how I learned to make a mean pie crust but not much else about actual nutrition

Back in the 1980s, I took a subject called Food and Nutrition for my O-Level.
It sounded sensible. Educational. Healthy, even.
But what I actually learned was how to make pastry.
Lots and lots of pastry.

Shortcrust. Puff. Suet. Filo.
Pies, pasties, sausage rolls.
We fried things. We baked things. Occasionally, we deep-fried things.
We made sponges packed with sugar, drenched in syrup, topped with jam and cream.
And I loved it.
I really did.

I wasn’t a bad cook, either.
In fact, I became something of a classroom sous-chef, happily folding flour into butter while my mates snuck outside for a smoke.

It was creative.
It was fun.
And it was tasty.
But looking back, I have to say — I’m not sure we ever got to the nutrition part.

There was very little discussion about macronutrients, vitamins, portion control or anything resembling healthy eating.
No talk of food addiction.
No mental health context.
No mention of how food could be used to self-soothe or cope with trauma.
Instead, we baked.
We fried.
We sprinkled caster sugar on top and called it learning.

At the time, I didn’t think much of it.
Even in recent years, I never really linked that course to anything meaningful in my adult life.
But now, as someone who has struggled with morbid obesity, binge eating, body image, and everything in between — I’ve started to reflect a bit differently.

Was Food and Nutrition just a fun elective?
Or was it, in some small way, part of the problem?

I was a chubby boy, sure, but not that chubby.
Yet people called me fat.
Teachers. Classmates. Even relatives.
So I leaned into it.
Became the funny one. The eater. The one who made it his identity before anyone else could weaponise it.

And there I was, in school, getting top marks for stuffing things with butter and sugar.

Let me be clear — I’m not blaming my O-Level for my later health issues.
That would be silly.
But I do think it says something about the era, the culture, and the kind of messages we got as children.

Messages about food.
Messages about bodies.
Messages about what’s normal, what’s healthy, and what we should aspire to.

No one spoke about emotional eating or the way food can become a crutch.
No one explained how cycles of dieting, shame, and bingeing can damage your whole relationship with your body.
We were taught how to make perfect flaky pastry, but not how to nourish ourselves.

Now, as Bye Bye Fatman, I try to be that voice.
The voice I never heard growing up.
The voice that says,
“You’re not lazy. You’re not broken. There are reasons why you struggle with food. And you’re allowed to talk about them.”

So maybe that O-Level did teach me something after all.
Maybe it laid the foundation for a story I didn’t know I’d spend a lifetime trying to understand.

And if nothing else,
I still make a killer apple pie.
I just don’t eat the whole thing in one sitting anymore.

22/07/2025

The Joy of Mess

Our house is noisy, messy and, honestly, a little bit mad.
There’s pen on the walls, usually thanks to Cian.
Plates mysteriously migrate from the dining table to behind the sofa.
Crumbs in beds. Crumbs in shoes. Crumbs in places I cannot explain.
Beds rarely get made without protest or parental intervention.
And sometimes even the dog looks like he’s had enough.

Mummy? She loves order.
She thrives on things being where they should be, tidy spaces, clean floors, calm.
So, naturally, she lives with four whirlwind children.
Three little ones and one big one — me.
Because let’s be honest, I contribute to the chaos more than I’d like to admit.
Clothes left on chairs, half-drunk cups of tea, shoes kicked off in random places.
I see the look on her face, and I know… I’m not helping.

But somehow, she puts up with us.
With all of us.
Even when we’re loud, messy, and completely exhausting.
She keeps the house (and our lives) from fully falling apart.

It’s not a picture-perfect house, and that’s OK.
It’s full of noise, mess, love, and a whole lot of life.

One day, it’ll all be tidy and quiet.
And I’ll probably miss the madness.

What’s the funniest mess your child has ever made?
Bonus points if a grown-up was actually to blame.

21/07/2025

If You Really Want to Understand the World, Work Abroad

If you want to see the world properly and gain a deeper understanding of different cultures, forget backpacking.
Forget short-term travel.
Work overseas.

I’ve worked in ten different countries, and even then, I can only claim a superficial awareness of the societies I’ve lived in.
But it’s still far more than I ever gained as a tourist.

When you live and work in a country, you get to see it with context.
You make real friendships.
You sit in people’s homes.
You hear their stories.
You start to understand how people think, what shapes their lives, and what truly matters to them.

You cannot get this experience by staying in hostels or hotels.
You cannot find it when the only locals you interact with are in service roles.
You certainly won’t learn it in two weeks with an itinerary and a selfie stick.

Many backpackers only spend time with people who look like them,
eating the same food, repeating the same stories, moving from one safe space to the next.
They may as well have stayed home.

If your job gives you the opportunity to work internationally, take it.
Teaching, healthcare, development, tourism, business, engineering, design — there are so many routes.
But teaching especially opens a door to true cultural immersion.
Schools sit at the centre of communities.
If you approach the role with humility and respect, you will be welcomed in ways that tourists never experience.

I don’t pretend this lifestyle is available to everyone.
It isn’t.
I am fully aware that my white privilege and passport privilege have opened doors for me.
The freedom to move, to work, and to live in other countries — this isn’t something most people can take for granted.

But for those who can, it is worth doing.
Not for the photo album.
Not to tick off countries on a map.
But to gain perspective, to understand culture and tradition,
and maybe, just maybe, to become a more thoughtful and effective advocate for communities whose voices are too often ignored.

Real travel is about more than distance.
It’s about connection.

21/07/2025

Ubuntu Lives Here
What Zambia has shown me about humanity, community, and what truly matters

There’s something deeply grounding about the way people live here in Zambia.
Something that speaks not just to culture, but to character.
Something that quietly rewires how you see the world and your place in it.

You feel it in the greetings.
In the neighbour who stops to ask how you slept.
In the child who offers you a chair without being told.
In the way people gather for weddings, funerals, naming ceremonies and ordinary visits.

It is not performance. It is not politeness.
It is Ubuntu — the belief that I am because we are.

And here in Zambia, that belief lives and breathes through something uniquely powerful:
One Zambia, One Nation.

This isn’t just a slogan. It is a lived truth.
A daily reminder that your tribe, your language, your background or your wealth does not define your worth.
What matters is how you treat others, how you show up for one another, and how you help hold the community together.

Too often, outside narratives about Africa skip all this.
They highlight crisis, not community.
Struggle, not strength.
But if you live here — if you really live here — you’ll see a different Africa.
One rooted in humanity, unity, and resilience.

Zambia has shown me that in ways I could never have imagined.

I see it in my wife Debra, who lives Ubuntu every day — not with big speeches, but through the quiet, faithful ways she loves, gives and nurtures.
I see it in her family, who welcomed me not as an outsider, but as one of their own.
I see it in our children, who are growing up Zambian —
learning what it means to belong to a community,
to honour elders, to share what you have, and to speak with kindness.

I didn’t come here to teach.
I came here to learn.
And what I’ve learned is that success is not measured by wealth, status, or achievement,
but by how you care for others.

Zambia has its challenges, like every nation.
But in the things that truly matter — compassion, humility, connection —
this country is rich beyond measure.

Ubuntu is alive in Zambia,
woven into daily life,
carried in the hands of ordinary people,
and echoed in the simple but powerful truth:
One Zambia, One Nation.

20/07/2025

What Zambia Taught Me About Humanity
Why the quiet customs of this country speak louder than the noise I left behind

When I moved to Zambia, I expected change.
I expected the heat, the scenery, the wildlife, the different pace of life.
But what I didn’t expect was how deeply the values and rhythms of this country would shape me,
how the people here would gently remind me of everything I never realised I had lost.

In Zambia, people still live by Ubuntu,
the beautiful belief that I am because we are.
That our humanity is bound together.
That life is not something to conquer alone, but to walk through side by side.

Here, people greet one another with intention.

Not the rushed “Alright?” you might get on a cold British street,
but a pause, a handshake, a smile, a proper “How are you?” that comes with time and care.

You greet elders with respect.
You acknowledge strangers.
You don’t just walk past someone without looking them in the eye.

Even in a shop or at the roadside, people make time to connect.
And it matters.

Visiting someone’s home still means something.

You arrive with your presence, maybe with a small gift or something to share.
You sit. You talk. You eat together.
No one rushes you out the door.
No one says “Let’s catch up sometime” and then disappears for three years.

Meals are still communal.
Family is still sacred.
Neighbours still show up when it counts.

And when someone dies, people come.

Not just the immediate family,
but neighbours, colleagues, old school friends, cousins three times removed.
They come to sit.
They come to cook.
They come to mourn as a village.

There is singing, silence, presence.
Grief is not hidden away in a ten-minute service with polite applause.
It is shared, as it should be.

I think back to the England I grew up in, and I feel something like grief.

We were once a people of community too.
Of neighbours who watched out for each other.
Of cups of tea and knock-on-the-door visits.
Of long wakes and slow Sundays and shared stories around the table.

Now we pass each other like ghosts.
We live next door and never speak.
We eat in silence, scroll through life, grieve alone.

Ireland too, with its fireside wisdom and music that once held whole families together,
has grown quieter. Colder.
Not in every home, but in enough that you feel the loss.

We traded connection for convenience.
We got what we wanted, and lost what we needed.

Zambia has reminded me that it doesn’t have to be that way.

Yes, life here has its challenges.
There are real issues, of course — poverty, infrastructure, access.
But in the things that matter most, in the way people carry each other,
Zambia is rich.

Ubuntu lives here, not just in words, but in action.
In greetings. In funerals. In mealtimes. In neighbourly visits.
In children being raised by entire communities.
In strangers who still see you as a fellow human being, not a problem to avoid.

I’m raising my children here, and I am grateful.

Grateful that they will learn to greet people with respect.
Grateful that they will understand what it means to show up in joy and in sorrow.
Grateful that they will grow up knowing they belong, not just to a household, but to a people.

The West taught me how to chase time.
Zambia is teaching me how to make time.
To slow down. To greet. To listen. To care.
To live with others, not just near them.

Ubuntu is not a slogan. It is a way of being.
And I hope it shapes the man I continue to become.

18/07/2025

If bedtime in your house looks anything like ours, then you’ll understand the madness.

We start with good intentions. Baths, pyjamas, teeth, story, lights out. Simple. In theory.

Then reality kicks in.

Emily starts her gymnast-ballerina routine across the hallway. Michael rolls dramatically on the floor, claiming he’s too exhausted to make it to bed. Cian wants to know if Emily is really a princess and why she doesn’t have a crown.

Then we begin the long list of goodnights.

Goodnight to the dogs – Eddie, Georgia and Chase.
Goodnight to the cat – Latte.
And yes, sometimes even goodnight to the car.

Then come the excuses:
“I need a wee.”
“My tummy hurts.”
“One more hug.”
And finally, “You forgot the story!”

Even when we get home late, we still go through it all. Because somehow, in the middle of the chaos, these little rituals mean everything.

Prompt: What bedtime routine works (or doesn’t) for your family?

17/07/2025

When Patience is Tested
Some days, being a parent feels like a test you didn’t revise for…

Let’s talk about parenting. Not the filtered kind. The real kind.
The sticky-fingered, sleep-deprived, why-are-you-screaming-about-toast kind.

We had one of those mornings recently.
You know the type. Everyone’s running late. The school bags have mysteriously vanished.
Someone’s lost a shoe.
Michael’s trying to explain the plot of a video game while Emily is weeping dramatically because her toast was “too brown but also too cold.”
And Cian? Cian’s naked, dancing on the sofa, singing his own version of “Let It Go.”

I looked at Debra across the kitchen, both of us trying not to laugh or cry, or both, and said,
“We are surviving. Just about.”

And the truth is, that’s what most parenting days feel like.
Not perfect. Not polished. Just present.
Doing the best you can with what little energy and caffeine you’ve got.

I didn’t grow up with a roadmap for this.
I’m learning as I go, stumbling and apologising along the way, trying to raise good humans while becoming a better one myself.

Debra and I often joke that we’re co-captains of Team Chaos, but beneath the laughter is a deep, shared desire to parent with love, patience, humility and care.
And even though I often fall short of the standard I set for myself, I’ve come to realise, that’s OK.

Because parenting isn’t about perfection.
It’s about turning up.
Even when you’re tired.
Even when you’re overwhelmed.
Even when you just want five minutes alone in the bathroom.

So if you’ve had your own “they cried over toast” moment this week, you’re in good company.
If you lost your cool, then apologised and started again, that’s strength.
If you fed them cereal for dinner because life got too much, that’s survival, not failure.

I’m Bye Bye Fatman, and this is the start of a new series about real parenting.
Not advice. Not judgment. Just one dad sharing stories, owning his flaws, and finding joy in the mess.

Let’s be honest with each other.
Let’s be kind.
And let’s never underestimate the courage it takes to raise little humans while trying to hold on to your own.

What’s your most recent “they cried over toast” moment? Share it below, no judgement here, only solidarity.

15/07/2025

Binge Eating Disorder is Real
It’s not about greed, it’s about pain.

Let’s talk honestly.
Not in whispers, not in shame, just truth.

Binge Eating Disorder (BED) is the most common eating disorder in the world,
and yet, it’s the one most often laughed off, ignored, or misunderstood.

We hear the terms anorexia and bulimia and we respond with concern, compassion, and care,
because we recognise them as serious, life-threatening mental health conditions.
But when someone talks about binge eating, the reaction is different.
We call them greedy, lazy, out of control, undisciplined.

Why?
Why do we treat one eating disorder with sympathy, and another with judgement?

I’m Bye Bye Fatman, and I live with binge eating disorder.

It’s not a lack of willpower.
It’s not just liking food too much.
It’s not a joke.

It’s eating when you’re not hungry,
eating past the point of pain,
eating to fill an emotional void that food can never satisfy.
It’s feeling possessed, then feeling disgusted.
It’s hiding wrappers, lying to people you love, losing control, then hating yourself for it.

It’s mental illness.
It’s addiction.
It’s trauma, anxiety, depression, fear, and shame all knotted together.

And yet, we make jokes about it.
We celebrate “cheat days” and “food comas,” but mock those of us who can’t stop.
We mock the very people who are struggling the most.

We don’t do that to people with anorexia. We don’t do it to bulimia.
So why is BED treated like a punchline?

Binge eating disorder is real, and it deserves to be taken seriously.

It deserves treatment, not teasing.
Support, not stigma.
Empathy, not eye rolls.

Recovery is possible, but only when we stop making people feel like it’s their fault.
Because the truth is, many of us learned to cope with trauma through food.
Many of us used food as the only comfort we were ever given.
And many of us are trying, every single day, to heal.

If you’re struggling, know this:

You are not disgusting.
You are not broken.
You are not alone.
And you are not greedy. You are hurting.

Reach out. Talk to someone. Get help if you can.
You are worthy of support, recovery, and peace with your body.

14/07/2025

What They Don’t Tell You About Being Fat
It’s not just about food, it’s about dignity, fear, and trying to survive in a world that wasn’t built for your body.

People think being fat is just about eating too much.
But that’s only the surface.
What they don’t see, what they don’t tell you, is the quiet pain you carry every single day.

Let me tell you what it’s really like.

It’s walking into a room and scanning for chairs, not people.
Because if the chair has arms, you might not fit.
Because you’ve broken one before.
Because the fear of crashing to the floor in front of others never quite goes away.

It’s dreading flights.
Will the seatbelt fit?
Will the person next to you shift uncomfortably?
Will the air crew hand you an extender like they’re doing you a favour?

It’s public judgement.
The glances, the whispers, the slow shake of the head from a stranger who doesn’t know your story but thinks they know everything based on your size.

It’s hiding.
In group photos, behind humour, behind other people in the queue, behind big clothes that you hope might make you invisible.

It’s struggling to shop.
Not because you’re fussy, but because nothing fits, or if it does, it’s labelled like a warning.

It’s pretending to be fine when you’re not.
You laugh louder than anyone, because you think if people are laughing with you, they might stop laughing at you.

I’m Bye Bye Fatman, and I’ve lived all of this.
I’ve made jokes to deflect pain.
I’ve avoided mirrors.
I’ve apologised for my body just by existing in public.

So if you’re reading this and you’ve felt any of it, you are not alone.
This journey is hard, not because we’re weak, but because the world was never built for us.

But that doesn’t mean we give up.
It means we walk forward, with honesty, with courage, and with compassion — for ourselves and for each other.

Bye Bye Fatman

22/07/2025

22/07/2025

21/07/2025

21/07/2025

20/07/2025

18/07/2025

17/07/2025

15/07/2025

14/07/2025

Address

Website

Alerts

Contact The Business

Shortcuts

Share

Category