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@theguycalledsacha

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Earlier this year, when things were particularly dark, someone suggested I go to the seaside.

It’s a very English thing to say, isn’t it? “Go to the seaside.” As though the answer to whatever ails you might simply be found somewhere beyond the reaches of the city, with a stick of rock and a cup of tea.

As a Londoner, I wasn’t entirely convinced. I grew up with relatives in Dorset and spent many summers as a child on the beaches of Bournemouth, so the seaside wasn’t something I particularly connected with relaxation.

But I started looking at St Ives. I had friends down there and the more I looked, the more I thought… actually, maybe I should go.

And as I sit waiting for my train home, all I can think is: St Ives is magical.

A little fishing town of stone houses and winding streets, with beaches that occasionally look more like Bondi than Britain, an arts community to rival Brighton, live music in pubs and always a little gem of something going on.

It is slow without being sleepy. Quiet without being dull. Beautiful without feeling like it is trying too hard.

Cornish people are wonderfully proud of their food and their wares. And when even a humble sausage roll, pasty or scone can arrive absolutely bursting with flavour, I can understand why.

For a few days, I felt like a proper London gentleman from days gone by who had escaped the smog. I packed my little case, jumped on a train and went in search of salty sea air and sunshine.

And what surprised me most was how welcome I felt.

Then there was the beautiful little flat I stayed in. Church bells in the distance. Waves crashing below. A bathtub in the bedroom. Lying in the window seat with a book and listening to the sea.

The Tate. Barbara Hepworth’s garden. Galleries and little shops. Food that probably shouldn’t have tasted quite that good. Walking along the coast. Sitting in the sand with a coffee and absolutely nowhere I needed to be.

St Ives was like taking a deep sigh.

Not an exhausted sigh. The opposite. A deep, wholesome breath that fills your lungs with sea air.

Anyway. The train home is nearly here. taken in St Ives, Cornwall by @theguycalledsacha

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15 days ago

This video is still making me chuckle.

Good times with @jose_morales_gc @jimmy88p @__harrisonc__ taken in Manchester, UK by @theguycalledsacha

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a month ago

About last night…

Bowling, arcade games that I haven’t played for decades, pool and some unplanned silliness.

A few months ago my friend @jose_morales_gc invited me along to @gaycitybowlers.

I’ll admit, I was nervous the first time I went. Despite putting together what I believe was an excellent “Americana bowling dad” look, I was absolutely dreadful. Apparently I was even bowling back to front and managed one of the lowest scores of all time. A legacy, I suppose.

What struck me was that everyone was so kind.

People I’d never met before gave me tips, cheered me on and (mostly) laughed with me rather than at me.

Last night was my second time along and it felt completely different. A new venue, a little less pressure and a lot more bowling.

I still didn’t win. I wasn’t even close.

But it was brilliant fun.

And somewhere between the gutter balls and the cheeky burger on the way home, I noticed how lovely it is to find new corners of community.

#gaylondon taken in London, United Kingdom by @theguycalledsacha

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2 months ago

Friends. Fun. Manchester Pride. Good food. Great company. Sweaty dancing. Cute hotel. More Pride.

Manchester, you took us in and made me fall in love with you. 🏳️‍🌈

Amazing weekend with @__harrisonc__ @jose_morales_gc @jimmy88p

Cheeky stay at @malmaisonhotels Manchdster.

Met the incredible @thetequilathirst

Totally fell for this guy at the parade @manchesterfire 🔥

That time I was too short for the bar.

The fabulous @mustbemeek

And the extra stunning @tiara_skye taken in Manchester, United Kingdom by @theguycalledsacha

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a month ago

Où sont les monsieurs?

#gay #gaylondon by @theguycalledsacha

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a month ago

A little evening stroll and the light made everything look like an oil painting. taken in Victoria Park, London by @theguycalledsacha

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a month ago

Eclipse, 2026. taken in London, United Kingdom by @theguycalledsacha

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2 months ago

A year ago today I joined the gym.

Thinking back to August last year, I remember feeling like something had shifted. I’m not sure what it was really. It wasn’t quite an awakening, that’s far too profound a way to explain it. I was more like I felt I owed it to myself.

So I joined my local gym and went for my first session.

I loved it.

What felt different this time was that it had very little to do with how I looked. I wanted to feel healthier. To be healthier. To have more energy. And for a while, I was completely absorbed by it. From August to November I exercised almost every day. My first 10k. Rowing. Building strength. Building routine. Getting stronger.

It never really felt like a chore. I just enjoyed it.

And then I got sick.

Months in hospital. No exercise. Losing a dramatic amount of weight. Losing muscle. Slowly building myself back up. Then being back in hospital again. And again.

Each time having to start over.

It was a different sort of year from the one I had imagined when I joined that gym.

There’s a phrase I’ve never particularly liked: “no excuses.”

What a load of bullsh*t. It makes you feel like you’ve failed when you’re busy, when you need rest or when you simply can’t.

Sometimes life just gets in the way. Sometimes there are very good reasons. I was simply told not to exercise for quite a long time.

I think I learned something from that too.

I learned to relax. I thought more about what I was eating. I realised that eating well didn’t have to mean eating joylessly and I’ll never be a “chicken and rice and chicken and rice and chicken and rice” kind of a guy. I still love food. I hope I always will.

And when I could exercise again, I stopped thinking so much about whether it was enough.

A walk was enough.

Twenty minutes was enough.

Dancing around the flat because a song came on that I couldn’t sit still to was enough.

It all counted.

Looking back at these photographs, I think that’s probably what this year has been about for me.

Not transformation, exactly. More a wobbly path.

Just finding little ways to look after myself, even when the year didn’t quite go to plan. by @theguycalledsacha

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2 months ago

Brighter days are coming. by @theguycalledsacha

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4 months ago

病は気から

I woke up the other day and saw that a friend had sent me a Japanese saying: “Yamai wa ki kara”

Illness starts from the mind. Or maybe, more gently, it’s a reminder that the mind, and our outlook, matter too.

The timing was perfect, as I’d just pulled myself back out of a spiral. I can’t pretend I’ve been endlessly positive or brave or graceful through all of this. I haven’t. I’ve cried. I’ve hit rock bottom. I’ve snapped at people who were only trying to help. I’ve been bored, scared, frustrated and completely fed up.

But what’s always brought me back is looking at the life I’ve already been lucky enough to live. No matter what comes next, or what I may not be able to do for a while, I’m still so grateful for my chaotic little life.

I never really sat back. I knew I wasn’t born to be a spectator. I’ve visited friends in countries all the way to Australia. I’ve had wild Friday nights out that ended on Monday mornings. I’ve made a fool of myself more times than I can count. I’ve sat on rooftops with people I loved. I’ve hopped on trains to explore castles just because, why not? I’ve had more adventures than I could ever ask for.

There will be another pause now. I’ll have to step back from exercise and embrace some calm again for a moment. Rebuild again. Be patient again. Learn, again, that healing doesn’t move in a straight line.

But it won’t stop me forever.

So I’m not done yet.

More castles. More cities. More long train journeys. More dancing. More ridiculous stories. More dinners that turn into nights out. More exploring places I’ve never been. More wandering without a proper plan. More laughing at things that probably aren’t that funny. More outfits I’m slightly overdressed for. More tiny adventures. More ordinary days that somehow end up being lovely.

More. by @theguycalledsacha

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3 months ago

Last summer I started trying to build my confidence. It’s been a bit of a journey, with a fairly major health interruption along the way, but I’m still here.

Part of that has been getting more comfortable being seen.

I’ve always hated having my photo taken. Even as a child I’d pull a face or hide behind someone else. Scroll back far enough and you’ll mostly find views, food, places I’ve been. Anything but me.

But I’m learning to show up a little more. taken in London, United Kingdom by @theguycalledsacha

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4 months ago

No glorious post. No deep meaning.

Just an update on the here and now.

I’m still in hospital. Since November, I’ve been admitted five times. Thirteen weeks in total.

This flare-up isn’t too bad. It’s not life-threatening like in winter. But it’s still confusing the doctors. It’s still uncomfortable. It’s still boring. And it’s still hard.

I’m trying to feel lucky, and in many ways, I know I am. I’ve been lucky to have a private room for a few days, but being moved back to a ward today has really knocked me. Knowing I’m stable is a good feeling, but not knowing how long I’ll be in is exhausting.

It’s a strange place to be. Better than before, but not well. Safe, but unsettled. Grateful, but tired.

And I think that’s the bit that’s hardest to explain. Trying to hold onto hope when you never quite know what’s coming next.

So that’s where I am. Not dramatic. Not profound. Just getting through this bit. taken in Chelsea and Westminster Hospital by @theguycalledsacha

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3 months ago