The International Day of Charity arrives like a quiet bell in the middle of our busy lives, inviting us to pause, breathe and look toward the people who carry the world on their shoulders without ever asking for applause. It is a day that reminds us that kindness is not an abstract idea but a living force, moved forward by real hands and real hearts.

Across every country and every community volunteers step forward with no promise of reward. They give their evenings, their weekends, their energy and their compassion so that someone else’s burden might be lighter. They help the lost find direction, they lift the weary, they strengthen the vulnerable, and they weave a thread of hope through places that might otherwise feel forgotten. One act of service at a time they make the world gentler, safer and more human.

Today is a good day to stop for a moment and give thanks. To think of the neighbour who checks in on the elderly. The coach who guides young people. The fundraiser who stands in the rain with a bucket. The volunteer who sits beside someone who is struggling. The unseen helpers who keep charities alive. These people are the quiet architecture of a better world.

And among these global volunteers stand the men and women of the Blood Bikes organisations. From Wales to Ireland, from England to Scotland, from Europe to distant continents, riders and controllers give their nights and their miles so that hospitals can keep moving and patients can keep fighting. They carry blood, samples, medication and hope through darkness, storms and silence. They do it freely. They do it faithfully. They do it because every life matters.

On this International Day of Charity let us honour them all. The volunteers who lift the world one act at a time. The ones who give without asking. The ones who ride through the night so that someone else may see the morning.

Yesterday evening the sky decided to put on a show. A partial solar eclipse swept across the UK, the first since 1999, back when we had dial‑up internet, and thought a Nokia 3210 was the height of technological wizardry. The next one won’t grace our shores until 2091, which means most of us will be watching it from the great lodge in the sky. So yes, this was a big one. The whole country went delightfully eclipse crazy. People were hopping across Europe like migrating starlings, chasing the perfect viewing spot. Anyone lucky enough to own a pair of eclipse glasses suddenly found themselves in possession of a priceless artefact. You could practically trade them for a four‑bedroom house in Chester. For a few glorious hours, they were the new Bitcoin.

And you can understand the excitement. Anyone under twenty‑six has never seen one, and the next chance is sixty‑five years away. It wasn’t just a celestial event, it was a generational moment, a cosmic postcard reminding us that the universe still enjoys a bit of theatre.

Yesterday evening also happened to be the monthly Blood Bikes Wales North East meeting. So, in true volunteer‑spirit fashion, we nudged the start time back by half an hour and turned the club car park into an impromptu observatory. Riders, controllers, volunteers, all of us gathered together, helmets swapped for eclipse glasses, radios quiet for once, watching the moon take a theatrical bite out of the sun.

For a moment it felt beautifully symbolic. A team dedicated to serving the community, standing shoulder to shoulder, witnessing a rare moment of cosmic alignment. The sky dimmed, the temperature dipped, and the whole world seemed to slip into that ancient, enchanted hush North Wales does so well.

Or at least… it would have.

Because this is North Wales… the land where clouds are permanent residents and the sun is an occasional tourist. So our grand celestial spectacle consisted of: a cloud with a bright light behind it, followed by a cloud with a slightly dimmer light behind it, before returning to a cloud with a bright light behind it.

That was our eclipse. A three‑act performance by the same cloud.

After ten minutes of heroic squinting, we admitted defeat, packed away the “observatory,” and headed to the bar, where at least the lights are reliable.

I remember the last eclipse well, the legendary summer of 1999. I was at the Whitby Gothic Weekend, surrounded by a sea of black‑clad pilgrims who had bravely ventured into the sunlight for the first time since the late eighties. It was like watching vampires on a team‑building exercise. They hissed, they squinted, they clung to the shadows of the nearest lamppost. A glorious sight.

While the crowds risked spontaneous combustion out on the seafront, I chose a far more civilised approach. I watched the eclipse on the pub television, safely indoors, day‑drinking with friends. A cold pint, a comfy seat, and the cosmic ballet unfolding on a screen above the bar, that, surely, is the gentleman’s way to witness celestial events.

There was something wonderfully surreal about it. Outside, the world was dimming under an ancient astronomical alignment. Inside, someone was arguing about whose turn it was on the fruit machine. The moon slid across the sun with mythic grandeur, and we toasted it with lager and laughter, as if we were attending a solar coronation.

And honestly, I stand by it. If the universe insists on performing rare cosmic theatre, the least we can do is enjoy it with good company, a drink in hand, and absolutely no risk of sunburn. It’s the only way… observe the mysteries of the heavens, but do it comfortably.

This evening a merry little band of us made our way to the Bridge Inn in Llangollen, summoned by the promise of a cheque and the even stronger promise of cold drinks. The pub had raised two hundred and fifty pounds for Blood Bikes Wales through their weekly quizzes, and we thought it only right to turn up in person, shake hands, smile warmly and generally look grateful and heroic. It is always good to remind people that bikers do more than roar about the countryside. Sometimes we collect cheques.

Since we were going anyway it made perfect sense to combine the noble act of charity with the equally noble act of having a few drinks. Bikers are creatures of tradition after all. You cannot simply walk into a pub, accept a donation and then leave like a group of monks. There are standards to uphold.

And once the drinks had begun to flow it seemed only polite to join in the pub quiz itself. Hospitality demands participation. So we formed a team of four and gave ourselves the kind of name that would strike fear into the hearts of lesser competitors. We were Three Drunkards and a Girl. On paper we were unstoppable. Two who had been to university and still remembered most of it. One retired engineer with a mind like a toolbox. One who had travelled the world in the merchant navy and collected more stories than stamps. A perfect blend of ages too. Two baby boomers, one Gen X and one millennial. A cross generational alliance forged in the fires of mild intoxication.

We were certain to win. Absolutely certain. You could feel the confidence radiating from our table like heat from a forge. Answers were whispered with the kind of authority usually reserved for professors and people who have watched a lot of documentaries.

In fact I am fairly sure we did win. I assume we won. We had to leave before the scores were checked because duty called and bikers are always in motion. But in a gesture of international goodwill we handed our winning answer sheet to a group of foreign students. It felt like the right thing to do. A small act of cultural exchange. They seemed delighted. We like to help.

If anyone ever sees a group of visiting students proudly claiming victory in a Llangollen pub quiz, you will know exactly where their mysterious knowledge came from.

The first day of Volunteer Week rises like a bright banner across Wales, calling us to pause for a moment and honour the people who give their time and their strength simply because it is the right thing to do. These are the men and women who step forward without fanfare, who lift the weight of their communities with steady hands, and who remind us that the heart of a nation is not found in its buildings or its borders but in its people.

Across our valleys and our coastlines volunteers keep the world turning. They guide the lost, comfort the weary, support our hospitals, protect our animals, strengthen our young people and breathe life into every corner of our shared life. They do it with kindness. They do it with courage. They do it because service is a light that never goes out.

Among these quiet heroes stand the volunteers of Blood Bikes Wales. Riders who take to the road in the rain and the dark. Controllers who hold the night together with calm voices and clear minds. Fundraisers who keep the wheels turning. Supporters who stand behind every mile. They carry blood and samples and hope through the small hours when most of the world sleeps. They ride not for glory but for the simple truth that every journey matters and every life is precious.

So as Volunteer Week begins let us raise our heads and honour them all. The unseen. The steadfast. The ones who answer the call without hesitation. Wales is stronger because of them. Wales is kinder because of them. Wales is Wales because of them.

Earlier today, I took a brief hiatus from haunting the digital wilds and shaking my metaphorical walking stick at the TikTok generation to wander down to the Maesgwyn Masonic Hall. Every now and then it’s good for a man to step out of the algorithmic shadows and remind the world that he exists in three dimensions, not just as a sarcastic ripple in the newsfeed.

This particular outing was for an Open Day, a chance to pull back the curtain on this so‑called “secret society” of ours and show the world what Freemasonry is actually about. Spoiler: it’s not all bout world domination, lizard people, or coded handshakes that unlock the vaults of the Illuminati. It’s a mix of making friends, helping deserving causes, and having a damn good hobby. In other words: community, charity, and the occasional biscuit.

The event was a brilliant opportunity for anyone curious to meet both Male and Female Freemasons and learn about the wide constellation of charities the fraternity supports. As someone who has spent twelve of the last thirteen years in one Masonic chair or another, it does my heart good to see the Craft standing proudly as part of the community rather than lurking in the background like a Victorian uncle with too many secrets.

And speaking of community, Blood Bikes Wales were there in force, engines gleaming, bikes lined up like a cavalry of red‑liveried dragons. Their presence was a heartfelt thank‑you to the North Wales Masons for the incredible support we’ve received over the years. As many of you know, I’ve been giving presentations for Blood Bikes since 2017, and through those talks we’ve raised over £50,000 for this vital cause. Seeing that support reflected back today reminded me exactly why I pour so much energy into those presentations. It’s not just fundraising, it’s fellowship in motion.

Of course, the Blood Bikes weren’t the only ambassadors in the car park. We were accompanied by: –

• St John Ambulance — the ever‑reliable healers in green
• North Wales Mountain Rescue — the heroes who go uphill so the rest of us don’t have to
• The Widows Sons — our leather‑clad brethren on two wheels

Now, regarding the Widows Sons, today was a perfect chance to dispel a few myths. As I wrote in my book, people sometimes see our patches and assume they’re looking at an outlaw biker gang. To be fair, we do have some members who look like they were carved out of granite and taught to frown by a thunder god, but the truth is far more wholesome. We are Masonic Ambassadors on two wheels, blending the brotherhood of the square and compasses with the freedom of the open road. Less “Sons of Anarchy,” more “Sons of Harmony.”

It was, in every sense, a day for dragons, community, and that particular flavour of Welsh magic that sparks when good people gather for a good purpose. Whether you came to admire the big shiny motorcycles or to find out how to become a better citizen of the world, the message was the same: even in a world that feels increasingly fragile, the spark of community service refuses to go out.

And that, perhaps, is the quiet miracle of days like this. They remind us that the world isn’t held together by grand speeches or sweeping gestures, but by ordinary people choosing, again and again, to show up, help out, and be part of something bigger than themselves.

A very happy Star Wars Day to all who celebrate the ancient Jedi tradition of doing the right thing even when it’s wildly inconvenient and involves travelling great distances with questionable navigation droids.

And let’s be honest: if the Jedi were here in Wales today, they wouldn’t be gliding around in starships or meditating on some windswept cliff.
No! they’d be on a Blood Bike, riding for Blood Bikes Wales.

Because what is a Jedi if not someone who gives their time freely, rides out at all hours, and answers the call for the benefit of all? A lightsaber is impressive, yes… but try delivering urgent medical supplies across North Wales in the rain at all hours. That’s real heroism.

I can absolutely picture it: Cloak billowing, visor down, the Force guiding them through the roundabouts of North Wales while an AT‑AT sulks in the background because it can’t corner as well as a Blood Bike

So on this May the Fourth, here’s to the real guardians of peace and wellbeing, the volunteers who ride not for glory, but for service. The Jedi would be proud.
And they’d definitely want a go on the bike.

May the Fourth be with you, and may the road rise to meet every rider who serves the galaxy, one delivery at a time.

This evening was the Blood Bikes Christmas Party!!! We had decided (by popular vote) that we would move the monthly meeting to a Saturday this month and turn it into a Christmas Party. So at 7:30pm all the good boys and girls of the NE Blood Bikes Wales gathered up to celebrate the season. Christmas Jumpers were optional, and in attendance.

So we had a quick update on the last months actions, including how we had been given a new bike by the family of someone who had passed away. Then we were informed that the High Sheriff of Clwyd who has been a fantastic supporter of the Charity for several years now (I think we are on the third or fourth bike she has gotten us) had put some money behind the bar to pay for our drinks.

We then spent a while eating and drinking and making merry to celebrate another busy year with the charity. Blood Bikes Wales Christmas baubles were presented to the members, some 10 year volunteer badges were handed out (I believe I would have been a volunteer for 10 years in 2026). We then had a raffle which raised £180(ish) I forget the exact amount, I did mention the free beer didn’t I?

I managed to win two raffle prizes, and Nev, Hugh and John won none, which made my day because Facebook had reminded me that last year ago the four of us had visited a Lodge to give a talk for Blood Bikes and those three had all won two raffle prizes, and I had won none.

Karma gets there eventually.

To recover from the stress of yesterdays Provincial Convocation, I decided to have an easy day today. So I went along to the Ruabon Frost Fayre to see Santa with the Blood Bike Wales guys. 

And as the song goes “The weather outside is frightful” and it was, since it was raining. But the Fayre was really busy with loads of people, stalls, and fundraising events.

Chatting to Santa he was shocked to hear we deliver 365 days a year, he said the reindeers would strike if he tried to do more than once a year.

To finish off the day a few of us Blood Bikers decided to get dry by going to sit by a fire in a real-ale pub and having a few drinks (off duty I should point out)