About me

I’m a licensed clinical psychologist, and, of course, a connoisseur of the finer things in life, whether that’s a good glass of sherry, a stimulating conversation, or an intellectually invigorating crossword puzzle.

I’ve spent years cultivating my tastes, my sharp wit, and my rather impeccable sense of self. I enjoy discussing the intricacies of human behaviour, the cultural significance of opera, and the subtle art of dining with dignity. And, naturally, I delight in offering guidance to those in need, though I prefer to think of it as more of a counselling service than casual advice.

How I came to support West Ham

"You know, it began during my sabbatical in London, a brief yet enlightening attempt to ‘connect with the common man.’ Naturally, I assumed I'd find myself at the ballet or perhaps a lecture on the Bloomsbury Group. Instead, I was swept, quite literally, into the East End by an enthusiastic cabbie named Tel, who insisted I experience ‘real football.’" "There I was: surrounded by pie, pints, and a level of shouting typically reserved for Greek tragedies. But something happened, something visceral. Amidst the roaring chants of 'I'm Forever Blowing Bubbles,' I found a raw, unfiltered expression of community and passion that even La Traviata couldn’t offer." "Since then, I’ve followed West Ham with a curious blend of intellectual detachment and irrational devotion… though these days I prefer my matchday snacks served on fine china at home."

My best West Ham memory

"My best West Ham memory? Without doubt, the 1980 FA Cup Final. Now, mind you, I wasn’t meant to be watching football that day. I had planned to attend a lecture at the Royal Academy on post-Freudian dream symbolism, followed by a quiet evening of Elgar and introspection. But Terry, the irrepressibly passionate East End cabbie who'd taken it upon himself to be my unofficial guide to 'real London' had other plans." "He barged in, tossed a scarf at me, claret and blue, I assumed it was a fashion statement, and proclaimed, 'You’re watching the Hammers today, son! No arguments.' I protested, naturally, citing prior engagements and a general aversion to ‘men running in shorts.’ But Terry was unmoved." "And so, I found myself in a smoky pub, sandwiched between Terry and a man called Big Dave who communicated almost exclusively in rhyming slang. The air was thick with anticipation and the aroma of pickled eggs. Then, in the 13th minute, Trevor Brooking, like a swan gliding through a sea of boots and brutality, nodded in the winning goal." "The pub erupted. Pint glasses flew. Terry hugged me. Big Dave wept into his crisps. And I a man of refinement and restraint, let out a guttural cheer that startled even myself." "That day, I didn’t just witness history. I became part of it. West Ham weren’t simply a football club anymore. They were my club. And I still maintain that goal had the grace of a well-executed aria."

The best West Ham game I’ve ever seen

2-0 win for West Ham on January 2, 2016. The best West Ham game I’ve ever witnessed, an absolute triumph of drama and skill. It was that unforgettable day when West Ham completed their first league double over Liverpool in 52 years. A remarkable feat, indeed." "The match was a veritable duet of goals, Michail Antonio and Andy Carroll each finding the net with the precision and harmony of two lead tenors in a grand opera. Their headers were not merely goals; they were statements, bold, resonant, and utterly decisive." "The atmosphere at Upton Park was electric, a cauldron of passion where every chant, every cheer, felt like a perfectly timed crescendo in a symphony. The victory wasn’t just about points on the table, it was a reclamation of pride, history, and that indomitable East End spirit." "On that day, football transcended sport and became theatre, a performance of heart, skill, and communal joy that I still cherish to this day." "Up the Irons!"