FRANKENHOG 2 - This time it's personal.

Look at this cool BMX I built. I'm fifty years old.

As a council estate kid, I used to dream of having a BMX — but we couldn’t afford such luxuries. So I went bin-diving and skip-surfing, sourcing rusty scrap from hedgerows and cobbling together a two-wheeled monstrosity with chopper handlebars, a toddler’s front wheel, and a woman's Dutch shopper frame. A proper Frankenhog. I got rinsed for it daily, but I kinda loved it. I was probably about eight and building something out of nothing gave me a sense of creativity, resilience and autonomy. I learned that there’s something primal and redemptive in the act of making—an instinctive pride rooted deep in our wiring. As an anxious and neurodivergent kid, building something with my hands undoubtedly gave momentary structure to the chaos.

I’m sure some of you think that building a BMX at fifty is bit tragic. But to me, it’s no more ridiculous than my other creative projects. I’m currently writing a feature for the BFI—Lashers—a coming-of-age story about sensitive, thoughtful lads navigating a culture that doesn't reward either of those things (You’re going to go and see it, right?). I’m also making an Arthouse documentary about neurodivergence in relation to place, space and creative practice. I get that the films probably seem like more serious pursuits than cobbling together a BMX — But really, they’re all just creative attempts to explore formative experiences in a way that offers catharsis

As children—especially sensitive children—the joy we experience is the most intense joy we’ll ever know. As adults, keeping our most intense feelings present and accessible is likely to get you medicated or hospitalised, trust me, I know.

So we mute our connection to things on purpose. We dial down the brightness on awe, wonder, loss, even love—just to make it through the day without crying in the cheese aisle.

Big feelings become cringe to adults. Something to be scared of or embarrassed about.

Their rawness is unpalatable. But some of those feelings—laughing until you can’t breathe, being overwhelmed by excitement at the newness of something —those are the best bits life has to offer. And the older we get, the more essential they become.

Play is everything.

Accessing childlike joy isn’t regression—it’s survival. As long as we stay self-aware about the hows and whys, letting yourself feel joy without cynicism or baggage is one of the kindest things we can do for ourselves.

Mostly though, I just wanted to show you my cool BMX.