I remember you getting up at 4am on a Monday morning. You'd drive to Manchester airport then fly out to Germany for a week.

I remember what you did for us

I remember you when I’m feeling rubbish, tired and ready to throw this stuff away.

I remember you when I’m feeling rubbish, tired and ready to throw this stuff away. 

I remember that time I came home from school and saw you crying. You’d only done that once before when you heard about Grandad passing away. I mean I’d only seen you do that once before. It was the start of a difficult time. No work. It went on for ages didn’t it? I never heard you complain. Or blame anyone else. Oh well apart from that time you swore your head off about effing Thatcher. Yeh, she’s got a lot to answer for hasn’t she? 

Things really shifted. At one point I overheard mum crying, I didn’t know then what ‘in the red’ meant. Others thought you might lose the house. But you didn’t. Nana and Grandad were amazing. So was auntie Jo. But you… you were unbelievable. The weight of what you went through only hit me after I moved out. It still hits me now, more so as I get older. You applied for so many jobs. Did you stop counting after it got to 800? 

I remember you were brave. And you went against the grain of what everyone else said. I remember someone saying at school they were looking for older, more experienced men to work at B&Q but you said you didn’t want to do that. We lived in a big house in a pretty area but there was no work. No work that you knew you could be really good at. You did the MBA, your sister was so generous and paid for it. But that wasn’t quite the right thing. Your heart wasn’t in it. You didn’t want to go to work and be the anger sponge between staff and senior management. That would have killed your dreams and intellect.


Then you hit upon something. I came home from school and saw all the books. There were loads of them. You were learning a new skill. A new coding language. You said there was a market demand for this. And that’s where your new business got started. Sure enough the small contracts came through. You told me at the job centre, they told you to remove the fact you’d joined a seminary as a teenager on your CV. You’d refused to. And interestingly your first new boss was a lovely Muslim lady - who’d commented that your CV was intriguing because you’d studied to become a priest. 

Your contracting business grew. As did the commutes. You travelled a lot down south. Then things expanded and you got hired by a number of large Pharmaceuticals in Europe. The stamina. You dug really deep. I remember you getting up at 4am on a Monday morning. You'd drive to Manchester airport then fly out to Germany for a week. Then come home late on Friday. You’d warm your tea up in the microwave. You did it with a smile on your face.

That new lease of life not many would be brave enough to grab.

When people ask what does your Dad do I say he works on cancer cures. Not exactly in a lab or near the patients. But you’re the guy who makes the software that analyses the data that they test new drugs on. Did I get that right?

You started over at 47.

I remember you when I’m feeling rubbish, tired and ready to throw this stuff away. 

I remember that time I came home from school and saw you crying. You’d only done that once before when you heard about Grandad passing away. I mean I’d only seen you do that once before. It was the start of a difficult time. No work. It went on for ages didn’t it? I never heard you complain. Or blame anyone else. Oh well apart from that time you swore your head off about effing Thatcher. Yeh, she’s got a lot to answer for hasn’t she? 

Things really shifted. At one point I overheard mum crying, I didn’t know then what ‘in the red’ meant. Others thought you might lose the house. But you didn’t. Nana and Grandad were amazing. So was auntie Jo. But you… you were unbelievable. The weight of what you went through only hit me after I moved out. It still hits me now, more so as I get older. You applied for so many jobs. Did you stop counting after it got to 800? 

I remember you were brave. And you went against the grain of what everyone else said. I remember someone saying at school they were looking for older, more experienced men to work at B&Q but you said you didn’t want to do that. We lived in a big house in a pretty area but there was no work. No work that you knew you could be really good at. You did the MBA, your sister was so generous and paid for it. But that wasn’t quite the right thing. Your heart wasn’t in it. You didn’t want to go to work and be the anger sponge between staff and senior management. That would have killed your dreams and intellect.


Then you hit upon something. I came home from school and saw all the books. There were loads of them. You were learning a new skill. A new coding language. You said there was a market demand for this. And that’s where your new business got started. Sure enough the small contracts came through. You told me at the job centre, they told you to remove the fact you’d joined a seminary as a teenager on your CV. You’d refused to. And interestingly your first new boss was a lovely Muslim lady - who’d commented that your CV was intriguing because you’d studied to become a priest. 

Your contracting business grew. As did the commutes. You travelled a lot down south. Then things expanded and you got hired by a number of large Pharmaceuticals in Europe. The stamina. You dug really deep. I remember you getting up at 4am on a Monday morning. You'd drive to Manchester airport then fly out to Germany for a week. Then come home late on Friday. You’d warm your tea up in the microwave. You did it with a smile on your face.

That new lease of life not many would be brave enough to grab.

When people ask what does your Dad do I say he works on cancer cures. Not exactly in a lab or near the patients. But you’re the guy who makes the software that analyses the data that they test new drugs on. Did I get that right?

You started over at 47.

I remember you when I’m feeling rubbish, tired and ready to throw this stuff away. 

I remember that time I came home from school and saw you crying. You’d only done that once before when you heard about Grandad passing away. I mean I’d only seen you do that once before. It was the start of a difficult time. No work. It went on for ages didn’t it? I never heard you complain. Or blame anyone else. Oh well apart from that time you swore your head off about effing Thatcher. Yeh, she’s got a lot to answer for hasn’t she? 

Things really shifted. At one point I overheard mum crying, I didn’t know then what ‘in the red’ meant. Others thought you might lose the house. But you didn’t. Nana and Grandad were amazing. So was auntie Jo. But you… you were unbelievable. The weight of what you went through only hit me after I moved out. It still hits me now, more so as I get older. You applied for so many jobs. Did you stop counting after it got to 800? 

I remember you were brave. And you went against the grain of what everyone else said. I remember someone saying at school they were looking for older, more experienced men to work at B&Q but you said you didn’t want to do that. We lived in a big house in a pretty area but there was no work. No work that you knew you could be really good at. You did the MBA, your sister was so generous and paid for it. But that wasn’t quite the right thing. Your heart wasn’t in it. You didn’t want to go to work and be the anger sponge between staff and senior management. That would have killed your dreams and intellect.


Then you hit upon something. I came home from school and saw all the books. There were loads of them. You were learning a new skill. A new coding language. You said there was a market demand for this. And that’s where your new business got started. Sure enough the small contracts came through. You told me at the job centre, they told you to remove the fact you’d joined a seminary as a teenager on your CV. You’d refused to. And interestingly your first new boss was a lovely Muslim lady - who’d commented that your CV was intriguing because you’d studied to become a priest. 

Your contracting business grew. As did the commutes. You travelled a lot down south. Then things expanded and you got hired by a number of large Pharmaceuticals in Europe. The stamina. You dug really deep. I remember you getting up at 4am on a Monday morning. You'd drive to Manchester airport then fly out to Germany for a week. Then come home late on Friday. You’d warm your tea up in the microwave. You did it with a smile on your face.

That new lease of life not many would be brave enough to grab.

When people ask what does your Dad do I say he works on cancer cures. Not exactly in a lab or near the patients. But you’re the guy who makes the software that analyses the data that they test new drugs on. Did I get that right?

You started over at 47.

No items found.
I remember you getting up at 4am on a Monday morning. You'd drive to Manchester airport then fly out to Germany for a week.

I remember you when I’m feeling rubbish, tired and ready to throw this stuff away. 

I remember that time I came home from school and saw you crying. You’d only done that once before when you heard about Grandad passing away. I mean I’d only seen you do that once before. It was the start of a difficult time. No work. It went on for ages didn’t it? I never heard you complain. Or blame anyone else. Oh well apart from that time you swore your head off about effing Thatcher. Yeh, she’s got a lot to answer for hasn’t she? 

Things really shifted. At one point I overheard mum crying, I didn’t know then what ‘in the red’ meant. Others thought you might lose the house. But you didn’t. Nana and Grandad were amazing. So was auntie Jo. But you… you were unbelievable. The weight of what you went through only hit me after I moved out. It still hits me now, more so as I get older. You applied for so many jobs. Did you stop counting after it got to 800? 

I remember you were brave. And you went against the grain of what everyone else said. I remember someone saying at school they were looking for older, more experienced men to work at B&Q but you said you didn’t want to do that. We lived in a big house in a pretty area but there was no work. No work that you knew you could be really good at. You did the MBA, your sister was so generous and paid for it. But that wasn’t quite the right thing. Your heart wasn’t in it. You didn’t want to go to work and be the anger sponge between staff and senior management. That would have killed your dreams and intellect.


Then you hit upon something. I came home from school and saw all the books. There were loads of them. You were learning a new skill. A new coding language. You said there was a market demand for this. And that’s where your new business got started. Sure enough the small contracts came through. You told me at the job centre, they told you to remove the fact you’d joined a seminary as a teenager on your CV. You’d refused to. And interestingly your first new boss was a lovely Muslim lady - who’d commented that your CV was intriguing because you’d studied to become a priest. 

Your contracting business grew. As did the commutes. You travelled a lot down south. Then things expanded and you got hired by a number of large Pharmaceuticals in Europe. The stamina. You dug really deep. I remember you getting up at 4am on a Monday morning. You'd drive to Manchester airport then fly out to Germany for a week. Then come home late on Friday. You’d warm your tea up in the microwave. You did it with a smile on your face.

That new lease of life not many would be brave enough to grab.

When people ask what does your Dad do I say he works on cancer cures. Not exactly in a lab or near the patients. But you’re the guy who makes the software that analyses the data that they test new drugs on. Did I get that right?

You started over at 47.

I remember you getting up at 4am on a Monday morning. You'd drive to Manchester airport then fly out to Germany for a week.

I remember what you did for us

I remember you when I’m feeling rubbish, tired and ready to throw this stuff away.

And that’s where your new business got started.

Sure enough the small contracts came through.

I remember you when I’m feeling rubbish, tired and ready to throw this stuff away. 

I remember that time I came home from school and saw you crying. You’d only done that once before when you heard about Grandad passing away. I mean I’d only seen you do that once before. It was the start of a difficult time. No work. It went on for ages didn’t it? I never heard you complain. Or blame anyone else. Oh well apart from that time you swore your head off about effing Thatcher. Yeh, she’s got a lot to answer for hasn’t she? 

Things really shifted. At one point I overheard mum crying, I didn’t know then what ‘in the red’ meant. Others thought you might lose the house. But you didn’t. Nana and Grandad were amazing. So was auntie Jo. But you… you were unbelievable. The weight of what you went through only hit me after I moved out. It still hits me now, more so as I get older. You applied for so many jobs. Did you stop counting after it got to 800? 

I remember you were brave. And you went against the grain of what everyone else said. I remember someone saying at school they were looking for older, more experienced men to work at B&Q but you said you didn’t want to do that. We lived in a big house in a pretty area but there was no work. No work that you knew you could be really good at. You did the MBA, your sister was so generous and paid for it. But that wasn’t quite the right thing. Your heart wasn’t in it. You didn’t want to go to work and be the anger sponge between staff and senior management. That would have killed your dreams and intellect.


Then you hit upon something. I came home from school and saw all the books. There were loads of them. You were learning a new skill. A new coding language. You said there was a market demand for this. And that’s where your new business got started. Sure enough the small contracts came through. You told me at the job centre, they told you to remove the fact you’d joined a seminary as a teenager on your CV. You’d refused to. And interestingly your first new boss was a lovely Muslim lady - who’d commented that your CV was intriguing because you’d studied to become a priest. 

Your contracting business grew. As did the commutes. You travelled a lot down south. Then things expanded and you got hired by a number of large Pharmaceuticals in Europe. The stamina. You dug really deep. I remember you getting up at 4am on a Monday morning. You'd drive to Manchester airport then fly out to Germany for a week. Then come home late on Friday. You’d warm your tea up in the microwave. You did it with a smile on your face.

That new lease of life not many would be brave enough to grab.

When people ask what does your Dad do I say he works on cancer cures. Not exactly in a lab or near the patients. But you’re the guy who makes the software that analyses the data that they test new drugs on. Did I get that right?

You started over at 47.

I remember you getting up at 4am on a Monday morning. You'd drive to Manchester airport then fly out to Germany for a week.

I remember you when I’m feeling rubbish, tired and ready to throw this stuff away. 

I remember that time I came home from school and saw you crying. You’d only done that once before when you heard about Grandad passing away. I mean I’d only seen you do that once before. It was the start of a difficult time. No work. It went on for ages didn’t it? I never heard you complain. Or blame anyone else. Oh well apart from that time you swore your head off about effing Thatcher. Yeh, she’s got a lot to answer for hasn’t she? 

Things really shifted. At one point I overheard mum crying, I didn’t know then what ‘in the red’ meant. Others thought you might lose the house. But you didn’t. Nana and Grandad were amazing. So was auntie Jo. But you… you were unbelievable. The weight of what you went through only hit me after I moved out. It still hits me now, more so as I get older. You applied for so many jobs. Did you stop counting after it got to 800? 

I remember you were brave. And you went against the grain of what everyone else said. I remember someone saying at school they were looking for older, more experienced men to work at B&Q but you said you didn’t want to do that. We lived in a big house in a pretty area but there was no work. No work that you knew you could be really good at. You did the MBA, your sister was so generous and paid for it. But that wasn’t quite the right thing. Your heart wasn’t in it. You didn’t want to go to work and be the anger sponge between staff and senior management. That would have killed your dreams and intellect.


Then you hit upon something. I came home from school and saw all the books. There were loads of them. You were learning a new skill. A new coding language. You said there was a market demand for this. And that’s where your new business got started. Sure enough the small contracts came through. You told me at the job centre, they told you to remove the fact you’d joined a seminary as a teenager on your CV. You’d refused to. And interestingly your first new boss was a lovely Muslim lady - who’d commented that your CV was intriguing because you’d studied to become a priest. 

Your contracting business grew. As did the commutes. You travelled a lot down south. Then things expanded and you got hired by a number of large Pharmaceuticals in Europe. The stamina. You dug really deep. I remember you getting up at 4am on a Monday morning. You'd drive to Manchester airport then fly out to Germany for a week. Then come home late on Friday. You’d warm your tea up in the microwave. You did it with a smile on your face.

That new lease of life not many would be brave enough to grab.

When people ask what does your Dad do I say he works on cancer cures. Not exactly in a lab or near the patients. But you’re the guy who makes the software that analyses the data that they test new drugs on. Did I get that right?

You started over at 47.

And that’s where your new business got started.

Sure enough the small contracts came through.

I remember you getting up at 4am on a Monday morning. You'd drive to Manchester airport then fly out to Germany for a week.

I remember what you did for us

I remember you when I’m feeling rubbish, tired and ready to throw this stuff away.

No items found.

Sticky Wrapper & image carousel background images with a fade in...

consectetur adipiscing elit. Suspendisse varius enim in eros elementum tristique. Duis cursus, mi quis viverra ornare, eros dolor interdum nulla, ut commodo diam libero vitae erat. Aenean faucibus nibh et justo cursus id rutrum lorem imperdiet. Nunc ut sem vitae risus tristique posuere.

No items found.

I remember you when I’m feeling rubbish, tired and ready to throw this stuff away. 

I remember that time I came home from school and saw you crying. You’d only done that once before when you heard about Grandad passing away. I mean I’d only seen you do that once before. It was the start of a difficult time. No work. It went on for ages didn’t it? I never heard you complain. Or blame anyone else. Oh well apart from that time you swore your head off about effing Thatcher. Yeh, she’s got a lot to answer for hasn’t she? 

Things really shifted. At one point I overheard mum crying, I didn’t know then what ‘in the red’ meant. Others thought you might lose the house. But you didn’t. Nana and Grandad were amazing. So was auntie Jo. But you… you were unbelievable. The weight of what you went through only hit me after I moved out. It still hits me now, more so as I get older. You applied for so many jobs. Did you stop counting after it got to 800? 

I remember you were brave. And you went against the grain of what everyone else said. I remember someone saying at school they were looking for older, more experienced men to work at B&Q but you said you didn’t want to do that. We lived in a big house in a pretty area but there was no work. No work that you knew you could be really good at. You did the MBA, your sister was so generous and paid for it. But that wasn’t quite the right thing. Your heart wasn’t in it. You didn’t want to go to work and be the anger sponge between staff and senior management. That would have killed your dreams and intellect.


Then you hit upon something. I came home from school and saw all the books. There were loads of them. You were learning a new skill. A new coding language. You said there was a market demand for this. And that’s where your new business got started. Sure enough the small contracts came through. You told me at the job centre, they told you to remove the fact you’d joined a seminary as a teenager on your CV. You’d refused to. And interestingly your first new boss was a lovely Muslim lady - who’d commented that your CV was intriguing because you’d studied to become a priest. 

Your contracting business grew. As did the commutes. You travelled a lot down south. Then things expanded and you got hired by a number of large Pharmaceuticals in Europe. The stamina. You dug really deep. I remember you getting up at 4am on a Monday morning. You'd drive to Manchester airport then fly out to Germany for a week. Then come home late on Friday. You’d warm your tea up in the microwave. You did it with a smile on your face.

That new lease of life not many would be brave enough to grab.

When people ask what does your Dad do I say he works on cancer cures. Not exactly in a lab or near the patients. But you’re the guy who makes the software that analyses the data that they test new drugs on. Did I get that right?

You started over at 47.

Sticky Wrapper & any images with a fade in...

Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Suspendisse varius enim in eros elementum tristique. Duis cursus, mi quis viverra ornare, eros dolor interdum nulla, ut commodo diam libero vitae erat. Aenean faucibus nibh et justo cursus id rutrum lorem imperdiet. Nunc ut sem vitae risus tristique posuere.

I remember you when I’m feeling rubbish, tired and ready to throw this stuff away. 

I remember that time I came home from school and saw you crying. You’d only done that once before when you heard about Grandad passing away. I mean I’d only seen you do that once before. It was the start of a difficult time. No work. It went on for ages didn’t it? I never heard you complain. Or blame anyone else. Oh well apart from that time you swore your head off about effing Thatcher. Yeh, she’s got a lot to answer for hasn’t she? 

Things really shifted. At one point I overheard mum crying, I didn’t know then what ‘in the red’ meant. Others thought you might lose the house. But you didn’t. Nana and Grandad were amazing. So was auntie Jo. But you… you were unbelievable. The weight of what you went through only hit me after I moved out. It still hits me now, more so as I get older. You applied for so many jobs. Did you stop counting after it got to 800? 

I remember you were brave. And you went against the grain of what everyone else said. I remember someone saying at school they were looking for older, more experienced men to work at B&Q but you said you didn’t want to do that. We lived in a big house in a pretty area but there was no work. No work that you knew you could be really good at. You did the MBA, your sister was so generous and paid for it. But that wasn’t quite the right thing. Your heart wasn’t in it. You didn’t want to go to work and be the anger sponge between staff and senior management. That would have killed your dreams and intellect.


Then you hit upon something. I came home from school and saw all the books. There were loads of them. You were learning a new skill. A new coding language. You said there was a market demand for this. And that’s where your new business got started. Sure enough the small contracts came through. You told me at the job centre, they told you to remove the fact you’d joined a seminary as a teenager on your CV. You’d refused to. And interestingly your first new boss was a lovely Muslim lady - who’d commented that your CV was intriguing because you’d studied to become a priest. 

Your contracting business grew. As did the commutes. You travelled a lot down south. Then things expanded and you got hired by a number of large Pharmaceuticals in Europe. The stamina. You dug really deep. I remember you getting up at 4am on a Monday morning. You'd drive to Manchester airport then fly out to Germany for a week. Then come home late on Friday. You’d warm your tea up in the microwave. You did it with a smile on your face.

That new lease of life not many would be brave enough to grab.

When people ask what does your Dad do I say he works on cancer cures. Not exactly in a lab or near the patients. But you’re the guy who makes the software that analyses the data that they test new drugs on. Did I get that right?

You started over at 47.

No items found.

And that’s where your new business got started.

Sure enough the small contracts came through.

No
Scarily brave
☝🏽