2025 has been a year of extremes — joy, pride, pain, and endurance — all wrapped into one relentless journey.

This year I became a grandfather again. Holding my grandson for the first time stopped the world for a moment. New life, new hope, a reminder of why we keep going no matter how heavy things get. Now both my two grandchildren really give me a sense of why I need to be around. I want to watch them grow and thrive with their parents. I can stand and watch from a distance and cover them with love.

I stood high on Mount Toubkal, lungs burning, legs tired, heart full. Once again the mountains gave me perspective — proof that even when the climb hurts, I still have the strength to put one foot in front of the other. I didn’t quite make it to the top for reasons I shan’t bother you with the effort was immense but the goal just one step too far.

And then came the blow I know too well. The resurgence of my stage 4 skin cancer. That familiar cold shock. The recalibration of life. The quiet fear mixed with a stubborn, defiant resolve that refuses to leave me.

As Christmas approached, the year continues to ask more of me. A divorce now final. Therapy begun — not as a sign of weakness, but survival. Learning how to sit with everything I’ve carried for far too long.

I am proud of what I’ve lived through this year. But I am tired — in my bones, in my heart, in my soul.

So if 2025 has taught me anything, it’s this: even the strongest climbers need to stop, breathe, and rest before the next ascent.

And right now… I need a rest.

Here is a short poem:-

2025 arrived on trembling feet,and placed a miracle in my arms – Leo small, warm, infinite, a heartbeat that rewrote hope.

I climbed Toubkal beneath a Moroccan sky, thin air burning my lungs, each step a promise that I was still here, still moving upward despite the weight I carried.

With Rotary, I stood shoulder to shoulder, service before self, turning compassion into action, and my voice into something louder than fear.

Across the UK I spoke melanoma’s name, so others might see sooner, protect more, lose less than I have.

And then – the ground shifted again. The word returned fell heavy and cruel, devastation echoing through every plan, every quiet moment.

Yet even in the wreckage of that news, Leo’s breath, mountain light, shared purpose, and hard-won courage whispered the same truth:

I am still standing.