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I once stayed at a hotel where there was an issue with my room. I called the front desk, and they kindly offered to move me. When I entered the second room, I realised the art on the wall was exactly the same as the first room. Of course, every room probably had the same artwork.

Hotel room art is selected to be uneventful and un-opinionated. It’s purchased in bulk, and the prints are cheap, and cheaply framed. They not trying to win you over with their art. They’re doing the bare minimum.

Art is certainly not the same as hotel room art.

I completed my first ever half marathon yesterday. It had been a challenge I’ve slowly prepared for throughout 2024, and I’m elated that I finished it.

Reflecting back on the day, the experience was particularly special because of two things.

Firstly, Maru and our close friends, Tim and Ilona, came along to support me. They braved the cold, wind, and rain, and navigated the course to cheer me on at multiple spots along the way. They got soaked but it didn’t stop them bringing good vibes. Completing the race without their support wouldn’t have been the same.

Secondly, the race was at the Silverstone Grand Prix circuit. Long time readers will be aware of my love of Formula One, and getting to run my first half marathon on arguably the sport’s most iconic track was incredible. I was geeking out whilst running through particularly famous parts of the circuit; remembering famous overtakes or moments.

Looking forward, one of my health goals is to be capable of running a half marathon at the drop of a hat. So now that I’ve completed my first one, I’m aiming to do more and improve my time.

For a successful technology, reality must take precedence over public relations, for nature cannot be fooled.
— Richard Feynman

I’ve been thinking a lot about this Feynman quote. When building a product or service, it’s easy to spend more time thinking about the PR than the thing itself.

In the long run, how people first hear about and see the thing matters little. What matters is building something that is measurably useful and valuable.

UK cars need a yearly check-up called an MOT. You take your car to a garage and they check a myriad of things including the brakes, steering, lights, tyres, wheels, exhaust, seat belts, and fuel systems. Ubiquitous MOTs mean that you have peace of mind that everyone else’s car has met the same safety standards as yours.

It got me thinking: why are annual health check-ups recommended but not required? I get that missing a health check-up doesn’t endanger the lives of other people, but our health is so much more valuable than the cars we drive.

Despite not being a requirement, perhaps we should think about our annual health check-ups more like a health MOT.

I recently came across a letter written by the dancer, Martha Graham, to her friend Agnes deMille. It articulates so beautifully the healthy unrest creatives should have with their work.

She makes the point that our job is to keep making things, as clearly and directly as we can. And even if we don’t like what we’re creating, we need to continue, and stay open to the things that motivate us. That’s a powerful message.

I’m pasting Martha’s text below. It’s a great read.

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“There is a vitality, a life force, a quickening that is translated through you into action, and there is only one of you in all time, this expression is unique, and if you block it, it will never exist through any other medium; and be lost. The world will not have it. It is not your business to determine how good it is, not how it compares with other expression. It is your business to keep it yours clearly and directly, to keep the channel open. You do not even have to believe in yourself or your work. You have to keep open and aware directly to the urges that motivate you. Keep the channel open. No artist is pleased. There is no satisfaction whatever at any time. There is only a queer, divine dissatisfaction, a blessed unrest that keeps us marching and makes us more alive than the others.”

It’s Thursday. A crisp, overcast, July afternoon in 2013. I’m kneeling on the rugby field alongside seventeen of my teammates, and training is about to end. Our coach gives us our final instructions before Saturday’s game, and signs off with a reminder to arrive with clean jerseys and clean boots.

Rugby is a messy sport. Mud, grass stains, and blood are part of the deal. So as a thirteen-year-old boy, I didn’t understand why we needed to turn up impeccably dressed.

Twenty years later, I get it.

Turning up in a clean jersey and boots communicates both self respect and respect to the opposition. It triggers something in the mind that says I’m here, I’m ready, and I’m striving for excellence in every part of my game.

As someone who no longer plays team sports, I miss that uniformity of expression in a sporting context. Where everyone on the team knows their role and what’s expected of them; even down to the smallest detail: clean boots.

One of tennis’ all-time greats, Rafael Nadal, retired this week after more than 20 years near the pinnacle of sport.

Nadal was also one part of one of tennis’ fiercest rivalries; a 15-year duel with Roger Federer.

However, their rivalry was also built on fierce respect. And it was wonderful to read Federer’s message to Nadal this week as the Spaniard played his final professional match. There is so much to be admired in the way these two have competed at the highest level and maintained their deep respect for one another.

I’m pasting Federer’s message below:

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As you get ready to graduate from tennis, I’ve got a few things to share before I maybe get emotional.

Let’s start with the obvious: you beat me—a lot. More than I managed to beat you. You challenged me in ways no one else could. On clay, it felt like I was stepping into your backyard, and you made me work harder than I ever thought I could just to hold my ground. You made me reimagine my game—even going so far as to change the size of my racquet head, hoping for any edge.

I’m not a very superstitious person, but you took it to the next level. Your whole process. All those rituals. Assembling your water bottles like toy soldiers in formation, fixing your hair, adjusting your underwear… All of it with the highest intensity. Secretly, I kind of loved the whole thing. Because it was so unique—it was so you.

And you know what, Rafa, you made me enjoy the game even more.

OK, maybe not at first. After the 2004 Australian Open, I achieved the #1 ranking for the first time. I thought I was on top of the world. And I was—until two months later, when you walked on the court in Miami in your red sleeveless shirt, showing off those biceps, and you beat me convincingly. All that buzz I’d been hearing about you—about this amazing young player from Mallorca, a generational talent, probably going to win a major someday—it wasn’t just hype.

We were both at the start of our journey and it’s one we ended up taking together. Twenty years later, Rafa, I have to say: What an incredible run you’ve had. Including 14 French Opens—historic! You made Spain proud… you made the whole tennis world proud.

I keep thinking about the memories we’ve shared. Promoting the sport together. Playing that match on half-grass, half-clay. Breaking the all-time attendance record by playing in front of more than 50,000 fans in Cape Town, South Africa. Always cracking each other up. Wearing each other out on the court and then, sometimes, almost literally having to hold each other up during trophy ceremonies.

I’m still grateful you invited me to Mallorca to help launch the Rafa Nadal Academy in 2016. Actually, I kind of invited myself. I knew you were too polite to insist on me being there, but I didn’t want to miss it. You have always been a role model for kids around the world, and Mirka and I are so glad that our children have all trained at your academies. They had a blast and learned so much—like thousands of other young players. Although I always worried my kids would come home playing tennis as lefties.

And then there was London—the Laver Cup in 2022. My final match. It meant everything to me that you were there by my side—not as my rival but as my doubles partner. Sharing the court with you that night, and sharing those tears, will forever be one of the most special moments of my career.

Rafa, I know you’re focused on the last stretch of your epic career. We will talk when it’s done. For now, I just want to congratulate your family and team, who all played a massive role in your success. And I want you to know that your old friend is always cheering for you, and will be cheering just as loud for everything you do next.

Rafa that!

Best always, your fan,

Roger

One of the things that stood out to me when I visited Chartwell House, Winston Churchill’s home, was the number of books he owned. There were thousands upon thousands sitting in luxurious built-in bookshelves, and over 173 books on Napoleon alone.

My father-in-law recently shared a concept with me about how it’s important to have unread books in your library. That although you may not read them now, or need them now, they sit there because you may need them in the future.

I’ve been thinking about this as I sometimes look at the unread books on my shelf and feel a bit guilty. So I decided to do a bit more digging on the matter.

I then came across the concept of the antilibrary, from Nassim Nicholas Taleb. He says, “Read books are far less valuable than unread ones. The library should contain as much of what you do not know as your financial means, mortgage rates, and the currently tight real-estate market allow you to put there. You will accumulate more knowledge and more books as you grow older, and the growing number of unread books on the shelves will look at you menacingly. Indeed, the more you know, the larger the rows of unread books. Let us call this collection of unread books an antilibrary.”

I now look at my unread books with a little more perspective.

There is a polaroid picture that’s framed and sits on my bookshelf. It’s a photo of Maru and I on the day we got engaged, but it’s before Maru knew a proposal was coming.

We’re standing on King Charles Street just across the road from St James’ Park. I’m brimming with nervous energy, and Maru is relaxed and elegant as always. The marble facades loom in the background, and we have the street to ourselves.

Although the polaroid has faded substantially in the past 5 years, I’m glad we captured this “before” moment.

I got this one from Anne Lamott’s excellent book, ‘Bird by Bird’.

E. L. Doctrow once said, “Writing a novel is like driving a car at night. You can only see as far as your headlights, but you can make the whole trip that way.”

Lamott rightly points out that this wisdom is equally applicable to life.

We don’t need to see the whole journey ahead.

I’ve been seeking out the most challenging tennis partners I can find. Despite getting beat consistently, I’m learning a lot!

Facing more skilled people is making me think more, move faster, and build more intuition with every match.

It’s fun winning, but the real value is where the most learning can be found.

I’ve been running to and from work for almost a year now, save for a couple months injury break.

The commute time is the same (about 30 mins) whether I’m running or taking the tube, so I figure I might as well exercise than get sandwiched amongst strangers.

One of the challenges of running home in winter is the sun setting so early. However, I bought a small headlamp to light the path a few steps ahead of me, and it’s amazing the confidence it gives me to know I’m much less likely to roll an ankle.

Without it, I’d be much more likely to make an excuse to not run home. It’s funny how such a small change can get rid of old excuses.

I’ve harboured a quiet desire for a few years to go to the Glastonbury Festival at least once in my life. But it always existed as a bucket list thing that I never did anything about.

However, earlier this week close friends of ours suggested pulling together a ticket-buying group for the 2025 festival. Because each person gets to buy six tickets (if they’re lucky enough to get through), you increase your chances of getting a spot if you have a larger group trying to buy.

I’m thrilled to say that someone in our group was lucky enough to get tickets, and Maru and I are pumped to be heading to Glastonbury in 2025!

Sometimes you need to make things on your bucket list happen. And there are other times when you’ll have friends who’ll drag you along and help make it happen for you.

Say yes to both.

Your coach looks you in the eye, they tell you where you’re getting things wrong, and they give you specific techniques to get better.

You feel awful at first because nothing is working. You try again, and again, and again, but things aren’t clicking. And as you’re seemingly getting worse, it feels like your coach is doggedly searing the tactics into your brain to no avail.

But eventually you start getting some of the mechanics right. A few things start working. You build some confidence, and you start developing some muscle memory.

At this point the coach then says, “Now, you have to feel it.”

At a certain point the theory takes a back seat, and our gut, intuition, and instinct takes over. We don’t achieve a state of flow by thinking our way into it. We have to learn to relax into it.

Why don’t we just add a little more?

More process. More flavour. More rules. More checks. More steps. More estimates. More analysis.

Everyone is tempted by more, and on the surface of it, more feels like progress.

Yet the more we add, the slower we move, and the more difficult it is to make any forward progress.

Strip it back to the essentials, and only add more when things start to creak and break.