Global Perspectives

I spent the last couple of days on adventures in Datong, with my great friend Phil. We sped there from Beijing on a bullet train that travels at 180kph, literally levitating above the track. It made almost no sound as it hurtled through China’s rugged plains.   Datong is a historic city, rebuilt in more recent times, with a history stretching back some 1,500 years. Just outside the city are the Yungang Grottoes, carved into the sandstone hills during the Northern Wei dynasty, one of the earliest dynasties to embrace and promote Buddhism in China. They are moving and breathtaking.  Painstaking work from hundreds of years ago;  paying forward to humanity a reminder of some simple truths to help make sense of our existence.  The scale and intricacy of the work is overwhelming. Enormous Buddha statues, some reaching 17 to 20 metres in height, sit alongside hundreds of smaller, intricately carved figures and symbols. All etched into the rock with little more than hamme...

There is one metric that stands out as a sign that a city has come of age and fully embraced modernity. Can you easily lace up your trainers and head out for a run (running being patently the best way explore a new city)? The last time I was in Beijing, in 2008, running was more a health hazard than a leisure pursuit. Running on the streets was a bit like going for a jog in a smoke-filled pub in the 90s. Actually maybe worse, more like doing mouth-to-mouth resuscitation on an exhaust pipe. The ubiquitous three-wheeled tuk-tuks were the chief culprits, belching out generous plumes of black smoke seemingly designed to fill your lungs. But there was another problem: there were scent pavements to run on and the ones there were ankle breakers . The priority was roads and buildings. Pedestrian walkways, particularly those that might encourage people to exercise, seemed pretty far down the list. Fast forward to 2026 and Beijing has come on leaps and bounds on both fronts. The tuk-tuks have...

On the train to Gatwick, the sun splashes its light on a  golden valley, resplendent in autumn colours.  I’m guessing I’ll see some amazing vistas on my sourjourn across Asia but I know I’ll miss the quiet grandeur of this Blighty view.  I’m leaving for the Silk Road. I leave with a mixture of eager anticipation and anxious apprehension. It’s 20 years ago since I travelled and lived in northern Thailand - an experience that enriched and changed me. I feel the same excitement to explore for several weeks. I’m clear this kind of adventure is an extraordinary privilege.   But. Have my logistical skills wintered on the vine? Will Chinese immigration wonder why I only have a one way flight? Can I thread my way through Central Asia at a time of heightened geo political conflict? More fundamentally, am I still capable of real independence?  On a recent dog walk last week, a weather beaten car had a sticker in the window.  It said ‘travel -always good.’  ...

I wanted to write a blog about dreams coming true -   how I conquered the sub-three-hour marathon.  But as I sit here, barely two hours after crossing the line, that isn’t a story I can tell. I ran Frankfurt in 3:04.35 officially (3.03 without the loo break!).  I’ve probably run more than a dozen marathons in my life, and my expectations tend to outstrip either my ability or my execution. The gap between what I hoped for and what I achieve can be a difficult place to sit. Today was no different. I wanted sub-three. I didn’t get it. My two great friends, Phil and Jon both achieved their goals. Phil ran 2:59:58 (incredible). Jon ran like a pro for 3:03. They set out their goals and nailed it.  Does coming up short reveal some fundamental weakness? Does failure tell us something deterministic about ourselves, some immutable truth about our character?  We want the things we achieve to tell us that we’re good enough. But the marathon is a dangerous peg on whic...

This week, I proudly saw my son performing at the Oxford Playhouse in a newly updated English translation of Chekhov’s The Seagull . I’ve never read Chekhov, so my son’s (quite brillaint) acting is proving an education. Good theatre is timeless because it tells us something about humanity that we have a proclivity to forget, avoid or hide from.  When The Seagull premiered in 1896, it was a disaster. Audiences disparaged its unconventional form, with its emphasis on subtext and insinuation over literalism. What is clear is that every character in the play is unhappy. It’s a series of portraits of the different ways we struggle emotionally. There is the grinding misery of poverty and physical hardship, which attracts zero sympathy (unromantic psychological pain). The neurotic is consumed by what might go wrong; the narcissist by the inconvenient truth that other people have lives of their own; the melancholic remains blighted by sadness despite success. Misery takes the form of ...

The other day, someone said to me: “I couldn’t do what you’re doing. I need to be busy. I need to be doing things.” Fair enough. Each to their own. But busyness feels like a trap that I want to use this year to wriggle free from. I’m going to give life in the slow lane a whirl.  There’s a concept in running called periodisation. You train hard for a block of weeks, then ease back, allowing your body to recover and adapt. The fitness gains don’t come just from the training itself, but from giving your body time to absorb the work. Nature understands this. Fields lie fallow. Heathland is burned to create the conditions for new growth. Seasons turn. Things die back, endings happen, and space opens up for something new. So that’s the idea for my year out: to make some space, see the world from different vantage points and replenish my stores of energy and enthusiasm.  I’m feeling excited. Here’s a sketch for the year ahead  Chapter one: The running monk First up, a mo...