Why I Do What I Do — And Why Tiverton Matters to Me.
If you run a business on your own, or spend most of your time working from home, you’ll probably recognise this:
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You tell yourself you’re doing fine.
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You keep going.
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You don’t really talk about it.
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But underneath it all, it can feel quite isolating.
I know that feeling better than I’d like to admit.
I grew up in a family of entrepreneurs.
Successful parents, successful grandparents, brothers, uncles — it was everywhere. Success wasn’t unusual, it was expected. And by the time I finished university, my older brothers had already achieved things I was still trying to figure out.
My benchmark for success was set early, and it was high.
I remember my grandad asking me a question when I was about 10 or 12:
“What’s better — being the child of successful parents, or the parent of a successful child?”
At the time, I answered confidently that I was very happy being the child.
That question never left me.
Because deep down, I knew I had something to live up to — I just didn’t know how I was going to do it.
I’ve always been creative. I think visually. I build things in my head and then figure out how to make them real.
Words have never come as naturally to me as ideas.
My dad recognised that early and encouraged me to lean into it — into design, visual communication, bringing ideas to life in ways people could actually see and understand.
That direction changed everything.
My early career didn’t follow a straight path.
A chance conversation in a beach bar in Jamaica led to an opportunity in the UK’s largest gold refinery. I ended up developing products, supporting marketing, and leading sales teams — all while learning how businesses actually work.
We created new ideas in the jewellery and investment space at a time when gold was under £200 an ounce.
That’s where I discovered something important:
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I loved small business.
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I loved making decisions and seeing them turn into something real.
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Eventually, I went out on my own.
Freelance design gave me freedom — and I took full advantage of it. I travelled across the USA, Australia, the Far East, Russia, Europe… working from a laptop, picking up projects as I went.
It looked like a great life.
But it wasn’t sustainable.
I found myself creating things… without knowing what to do with them.
That frustration led to something unexpected.
I couldn’t find anyone to produce work the way I wanted, at a price that made sense — so I bought the equipment myself.
A direct-to-garment printer. Embroidery machines.
Without really planning it, I built a business.
That business grew. At its peak, we had a team of nine. And what I loved most wasn’t just the work — it was the impact.
I’d open the local paper and see things we had designed and produced everywhere. Events, teams, organisations — all brought to life visually.
I became part of the community in a very real way.
But the most important part wasn’t the business.
It was the people.
I’ve seen individuals go from having no confidence, barely speaking, avoiding eye contact — to building careers, gaining qualifications, and working with global brands.
I’ve seen people who had no clear direction suddenly find ambition, take ownership, and decide they wanted to build something of their own.
I’ve never pushed people.
But I’ve always walked alongside them.
That’s what I do best — I say yes to ideas, and I help make them happen.
Then things changed.
The early 2020s were tough. Like many, I was hit hard. Debt built up. Businesses had to close. Plans fell apart.
But the harder part wasn’t financial.
It was personal.
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I didn’t get out of bed.
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I ate too much. Drank more than I should.
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I felt completely worthless.
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I didn’t want help — but I couldn’t fix it myself either.
That period broke something in me.
What pulled me out of it wasn’t one big moment.
It was a series of smaller ones.
Honest conversations with my wife.
Long walks with the dog.
Time spent just looking at something beautiful and thinking about nothing at all.
My dad had always been a huge influence on me — a natural leader, someone who gave people responsibility, trusted them, and supported them to make decisions for themselves.
When he passed away, I spoke to him in the chapel of rest and made some promises.
Not the kind you can take back later.
That changed how I thought about everything.
Around that same time — strangely, on the very same day 28th August 2025 — three things happened:
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I saw the opportunity to run the Tiverton Workhub.
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My wife and I found our home near Tiverton.
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I first read the phrase and wish I had understood it years earlier: No one should build a business alone.
For years, I tried to do everything myself.
It led to burnout.
It affected my mental health.
It put pressure on my relationships.
And it didn’t need to happen.
Tiverton, for me, isn’t just a place.
It’s home.
It’s a beautiful part of the world — but like many places, it can feel disconnected. People working on their own, building things quietly, not always having the support or structure around them.
That’s what I want to change.
Because for me to succeed here, the community has to succeed too.
Now, through SiGNAL and the Tiverton Workhub, that’s exactly what we’re building.
A place where:
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You don’t have to work alone
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You can share ideas openly
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You get structure, support, and accountability when you need it
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And you’re surrounded by people who are also trying to build something
I’ll walk the journey with you.
But I won’t pull you along.
After 30 years of building businesses, making mistakes, starting again, and learning the hard way — I know this much is true:
Doing it alone is harder than it needs to be.
If any of this feels familiar to you — the isolation, the pressure, the uncertainty — then you don’t have to keep doing it that way.
Come and be part of what we’re building here in Tiverton.