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Covering your hometown rugby club in a Premiership final is one of those moments.

With the game on 20 June marking my first accreditation as a freelance journalist under the Raw Perspective banner, I want to take readers behind the scenes covering this event.

Fail to prepare, prepare to fail

Accreditation applications often need to be submitted weeks in advance, so having a strong editorial plan gives your day direction once you’re inside the ground and the confirmation only arrives a few days before the match, so there’s always a sense of anticipation waiting for that email to land.

It’s something I’ve learnt the importance of as I’ve begun building Raw Perspective.

The Media Centre

This at times can quite often feel intimidating, knowing that some of your sports journalism heroes are now your rivals and you are competing for the best scoops, stories and ultimately who’s opinion is most highly regarded.

Speaking over highly sought opinions, the first person in the centre was Stuart Barnes, who has agreed to come on and be interviewed to talk about his life after rugby, in a series that has launched on Raw Perspective recently.

You are always given the option of a good meal and nice refreshments.

Opinions Matter

Feature writing—and sports journalism more broadly—is built on opinions. It’s just that some opinions have a greater platform than the others.

The chief rugby writers at national newspapers may never have heard of Raw Perspective, but journalism is changing.

The digital landscape means independent writers can build audiences, tell stories that traditional media may overlook and create their own opportunities and that’s one of the biggest reasons I started this platform in the first place.

Taking it all in

From the media centre, the journalists take a private lift directly to the press tribune. And every time those doors open, I’m reminded that opportunities like these come through persistence, networking, and a genuine passion for storytelling—and that nothing in journalism is guaranteed.

Like a game of rugby, you’re only ever as good as your last story.

This stadium holds so many memories for me: from playing and winning here to countless games watching England. So, before kick-off, I’ve always made it ritual to have a coffee and take a few minutes to soak up the atmosphere.

One of the perks of accreditation is getting access to parts of the stadium most supporters never get to see, so to be able to show my family around the press tribune and media centre with my brothers and dad, who have supported me in their own ways throughout my journey to becoming a journalist, meant a lot.

The Press Tribune

Unlike the international matches I’ve previously covered involving Australia, Argentina and Ireland, the Premiership final had a much smaller media presence.

There were no allocated seats in the press tribune so I ended up sitting alongside Tom Vickers, the rugby correspondent at the Northampton Chronicle & Echo - the newspaper where I’d previously interned after finishing my placement at the Financial Times.

It was another reminder of how small the journalism world can be, and how relationships built early in your career often come back around when you least expect them.

The press conference

The walk from the press tribune to the press conference is one I’ve come to appreciate. It gives you a chance to process the game, gather your thoughts and think about the questions you want to ask before the coaches and players arrive.

The closest comparison I can make - especially for my footballmad friends in London -is covering your own team after they’ve just won the Premier League. As a journalist, you’re there to do a job, but it’s impossible not to appreciate what this means to me and the town I am from.

One of the best pieces of advice I’ve received came from veteran sports journalist Julian Guyer: listen to the answer, not just for your turn to speak. It is simple but if your question has already been answered, there’s little value in asking it again.

It’s something I often notice in press conferences as some journalists arrive with a fixed list of questions and stick to it regardless of how the conference plays out.

In this instance, the press conference began with Exeter head coach Rob Baxter telling reporters that Exeter captain Dafydd Jenkins would take questions first, as he might need to undergo a drug test and wanted time to get changed and rehydrate after the match:

As journalists directed their questions to Jenkins, I took the opportunity to ask Rob Baxter a question, completely disregarding what he had asked just two minutes earlier.

In this instance, Baxter was right to shut me down.

I had ignored his request and, as a result, lost the confidence to ask my question again when it was his turn to speak. However, by that point, my question had already been answered, so there was little value in asking it again.

I believe it’s important to ask questions that set the agenda. In other words, the answer becomes the key talking point from the press conference—one that other journalists are likely to quote in their own coverage, even if they don’t attribute the reporter who asked it.

I was reminded of my first international press conference, when England faced Australia last year. Steve Borthwick’s answer to my question was broadcast on Sky Sports, but my question itself was cut from the clip. It reinforced an important lesson: in sports journalism, it’s often the answer—not the journalist asking the question—that shapes the news agenda.

I asked Phil Dowson, the former player and now two-time Premiership-winning Director of Rugby, what his message to the players had been to the players at half-time.

Fair to say he wasn’t bothered, because they had just won the Prem…

But walking out of Twickenham, with my lanyard still around my neck, it struck me how quickly things can change. I'd only finished my NCTJ a few months earlier, and now I was leaving my first Premiership final as an accredited freelance journalist. So whatever comes next, it's a day I'll always remember.

The match marks the first time Northampton and Exeter have met in a major final and will also be the last game in black, green & gold for captain George Furbank.

Furbank, who has made 140 appearances for Northampton, is set to join Harlequins next season after bringing an end to a distinguished spell at Franklin’s Gardens.

Saints arrive at Allianz Stadium brimming with confidence after dispatching fierce East Midlands rivals Leicester Tigers in last weekend’s semi-final.

The victory not only secured Northampton’s place in a second Premiership final in three seasons but also underlined the resilience and ruthlessness that have defined Phil Dowson’s side throughout the 2025/26 campaign.

Raw Perspective has secured accreditation for the final and will be reporting from Allianz Stadium throughout the day.

Exeter booked their place in the final showdown with a dramatic 27-26 semi-final success away to Bath last weekend. Now, a hardened Chiefs bid to break a barren six-year spell and bring the Premiership prize back to Devon.

Director of Rugby, Phil Dowson, a key figure in Northampton’s maiden Premiership triumph in 2014, will go head-to-head with the ever-resilient Rob Baxter, whose Exeter side have been handed a major boost by the return of England winger Emmanuel Feyi-Waboso.

The 22-year-old has been declared fit after undergoing jaw surgery earlier this month, leaving Baxter with a fully fit squad for the Premiership final.

“All the information is very, very positive,” said Baxter.

It’s not like there’s damage that needs protecting so let’s get on with it now.”

Though much of Northampton’s hopes will rest on the shoulders of England’s playmaking spine. Fly-half Fin Smith has been central to Saints’ attacking success this season, with Dowson’s side embracing an expansive, fearless brand of rugby that has made them one of the most prolific attacking teams in Europe.

There was also a major boost this week with England scrum-half Alex Mitchell returning to fitness ahead of the final. The lions winning scrum half was set to miss the remainder of the season with a hamstring injury, but is now in contention to feature at Allianz Stadium, providing Saints with invaluable experience and leadership on Saturday.

Out wide, Tommy Freeman remains one of Northampton’s greatest attacking threats with the England international crosssing the line in last week’s whitewash underlining his ability to deliver in the biggest moments.

As Furbank looks to avoid resting on the laurels of past success before his move to the south-west London side, he carries not only the hopes of Saints supporters but the weight of Northampton’s recent legacy on his shoulders.

Kick off tomorrow at 3PM from Allianz Stadium, Twickenham.

“Originally, the work done here was for the benefit of other astronomers and people interested in accurate time using the stars,” explains Dr Louise Devoy, Senior Curator of the Royal Observatory, Greenwich. “Then gradually, over time, more and more people started to use it.”

Dr Devoy is one of the UK’s foremost authorities on the history of timekeeping, ensuring that the Observatory continues to inspire and educate how deeply time is woven into our daily lives.

“Our whole relationship with time has changed,” she said. “Before the industrial age, people were outdoors, working in the fields, guided by the sun and the seasons. In some ways, we’ve lost that connection.

“We have that authentic story. We have the objects, we have the stories and this really is a very special place.”

Even as we live by digital seconds and atomic precision, she added: “We still rely on time zones and standards that are intervals from Universal Coordinated Time (UTC), which is a descendant of Greenwich Mean Time.”

“You often see quite a few reminders of our own mortality… time is one of our most precious resources.”

Though its famous time ball still drops at 1 p.m. every day, a ritual dating back to 1833, the real work of keeping Britain on time has evolved into a collaboration between museums, laboratories, and watchmakers.

In a quiet Wimbledon workshop, 10.5 nautical miles south-west from the Royal Observatory, Jon Woods, founder of London’s only Watchmaking School, bridges the mechanical precision of the past with a contemporary thirst for craftsmanship.

“At this time of year, I feel time is more precious,” he tells Raw Perspective.” When I wind my watch, it’s a ritual, a way to stay connected to time, not just measure it.”

Jon now teaches a new generation of watchmakers and says: “the real, true skills are being lost because people like me aren’t around to teach them.

We were at the top of the game in the 18th century. Now the government isn’t interested.”

For Jon, every watch carries a story: “I could have a highly accurate watch on my wrist, but it wouldn’t mean the same as this one because I have a connection with it every day,” he says.

Hanging in Jon’s workshop is a quote by Friedrich Von Schiller, that reads: “Only those who have the patience to do simple things perfectly will acquire the skill to do difficult things easily.”

Jon’s work is built on composure and he added: “To be put into a position of being impatient develops the skill of being patient.”

Although the heart of timekeeping sits in Greenwich, its pulse beats in Teddington, at the National Physical Laboratory (NPL), home to the UK’s atomic time scale.

A spokesperson at the NPL Time and Frequency Department said: “We maintain the UK’s national time scale, and the country’s primary frequency standards. This ensures that clocks across the UK are accurate and synchronised.”

Although timekeeping today is coordinated globally, with around 70 national timing institutes contributing to the Coordinated Universal Time scale, Britain remains the centre post for engineering time in South West London.

“Atomic timekeeping underpins technologies that are part of our daily lives, including mobile phones, the internet, and global navigation satellite systems,” added the NPL.

Although the average Brit might not think about it, the accuracy of these systems shapes almost every aspect of daily life, from breaking news notifications to a Whatsapp message to say a family member has landed safely.

As this Sunday will mark the longest day of the year, Britain’s timekeeping infrastructures will continue to tick. And in a world defined by speed, automation, and data, the story of timekeeping reminds us that our task is not merely to measure time, but to live meaningfully within it.

Northampton Outlaws RFC, founded in April 2012, was the first gay and inclusive rugby team of its kind in the East Midlands. They play at the home of the Northampton Old Scouts, a club with a storied history that has produced world-class talent, including British Lion Courtney Lawes, and World Cup winners Ben Cohen and Steve Thompson—all of whom played for the Northampton Saints.

For decades, the rugby union environment has been defined by a traditionalist, hyper-masculine culture. For many men, struggling with mental health has been viewed as a sign of weakness.

Movements like LooseHeadz, founded in 2017, was created to combat this stigma, acting as a catalyst for conversation and a movement toward better well-being. By using rugby clothing as a tool to break down barriers, they are building a community united by a shared mission: to get men talking.

Raw Perspective spoke with the Outlaws’ Chairperson and captain, 41-year-old Simon Chapman. He recalled his own early skepticism, admitting, “Why would I set up a gay team in Northampton, when I’m the only gay rugby player?” While others credit him with founding the club, Chapman’s initial doubt highlights the isolation he felt—a sentiment far removed from the reality of the region today.

“We’re not trying to be the best rugby players in the world, but at the same time, we are,” Chapman says, describing the team’s ethos. “We’re training hard because we’re enjoying what we’re doing” with his ultimate goal is to foster an environment that gives people “more reason to carry on.”

He points to the heavy silence surrounding men’s mental health, noting that the fear of coming out or discussing feelings contributes to a grim reality: in the UK, men commit suicide at a ratio of 3:1 compared to women. From a young age, boys are often conditioned to shut down their feelings with commands like “man up”, creating fewer opportunities to form a healthy relationship with their emotions.

Despite growing acceptance, gay men remain more susceptible to poor mental health than their straight counterparts and Hugh Kennedy, 60, finds the Outlaws to be a vital platform. “By the very nature of existing, this club encourages men to talk and breaks down preconceived ideas of toxic masculinity,” he says. “It’s an environment where men can get together regardless of shape, size, or ability.”

For Hugh, the club has been a lifeline after navigating a difficult divorce, and he is candid about the stakes: “If I wasn’t running around a rugby field, I’d be running in front of traffic.” His experience underscores not only the significance of sport on well-being but also how damaging it can be to remain in environments where the pressure to “man up” still remains the status quo.

“When I spoke to my friends who were Australian, they couldn’t see the need for a gay rugby team,” Hugh adds.

But it becomes apparent the Outlaws are a team you don’t realise you need until you have put on the shirt, put your arm around the man next to you, and looked him in the eye, knowing that in the face of adversity, he will have your back.

Chapman’s own journey proves this, having played for the Old Scouts, winning both Player of the Year and Players’ Player for the 1st XV in the same season. Yet, he knew he couldn’t sustain the life he was living. “Being rugby players in a rugby environment, you don’t think you come across homosexuality,” he recalls. Ironically, he notes, “People initially didn’t think I was gay.”

Transitioning from the Old Scouts to the Outlaws was, for Simon, his salvation.

The Outlaws are members of International Gay Rugby (IGR), an organisation dedicated to eliminating discrimination. They compete in the IGR League, the International Union Cup, and the prestigious Bingham Cup—the biennial world championship named in honour of Mark Bingham, a hero of United Flight 93.

As 28-year-old Ash points out, rugby is about more than just the game; it is about building a support system. “As a gay male, you tend to have more female friends,” he says. “The Outlaws has allowed me to become friends with more males.”

There is no doubt that rugby creates camaraderie, but we must normalise the conversation around mental health and as the town prepares to watch the Northampton Saints take to the field at Allianz Stadium against Exeter Chiefs, we will see the pinnacle of what rugby can achieve on the scoreboard.

But the true spirit of this sport is found in the courage it takes to look a teammate in the eye and be honest about how you are feeling.

Players spend 80 minutes on the pitch talking and that shouldn’t stop at the final whistle.

Figures from the DfE show a sharp rise in the number of pupils learning from home across England, including West Northamptonshire.

The mounting pressures on SEND provision, shortages of school places, and the growing normalisation of flexible working reflect a sharp rise in families opting for Elective Home Education at both the local and national levels.

West Northamptonshire Council (WNC) currently records around 1,100 electively home-educated children.

Cllr Mark Arnull, Reform Leader at WNC, said the authority had expanded its support team in response. “We have a dedicated team of officers as part of the School Attendance Support Service who are responsible for delivering statutory duties around electively home-educated pupils,” he explained.

“This includes explaining the process to families, offering home visits and checking the home education plans that are submitted, to ensure parents and carers are providing a suitable education.”

Data from the DfE shows a marked rise in the number of home-educated pupils in West Northamptonshire compared to North Northamptonshire. Figures increased 34.18% from 790 pupils in the autumn term 2022/23 to 1,060 pupils in the autumn term 2024/25.

Across this period, West Northamptonshire Council has failed to implement the necessary procedures for children in elective home education, creating a clear message: the right kind of reform is necessary.

While West Northamptonshire Council started 2022/23 Autumn 19.7% higher than North Northamptonshire (790 vs 660), by 2024/25 Autumn it was only 2.9% higher (1,060 vs 1,030), representing a 77% collapse in the gap overall.

This reduction in disparity is driven by much slower growth in West Northamptonshire, which increased by just 34.2% overall (790 to 1,060) compared with 56.1% growth in North Northamptonshire (660 to 1,030).

The contrast is even sharper in the most recent year: from 2023/24 Autumn to 2024/25 Autumn, West Northamptonshire grew by only 14.0%, while North Northamptonshire expanded by 25.6%, almost double the rate.

West Northamptonshire’s historical advantage has nearly disappeared, indicating that its response and strategic planning has failed to keep pace with rising and accelerating demand, leaving the council increasingly exposed if current trends continue.

The East Midlands ranks sixth out of England’s ten regions, indicating a mid-to-high level of demand for services. Rapid population growth — driven by major housing developments — has intensified competition for school places.

At the same time, growing waiting lists for SEND assessments and provision are leading more families to withdraw their children from mainstream education.

For local colleges, the changing landscape is affecting support services for students returning from EHE.

Melanie Cooper, SENDCo and curriculum manager at Northampton College said: “One of the major barriers a young person faces after being electively home-educated is re-entering education in any format.

“The challenges and opportunities for organisations like ours is to be the most welcoming, accepting and non-judgemental platform we can be.”

She added: “Ultimately, we want students to attend college, to engage and to achieve. But there are other mechanisms and other ways to do it.

It’s about offering flexibility, positivity, and programmes delivered by experienced teachers.”

Cooper also highlighted the influence of parental philosophy: “We take parents, caregivers and next of kin with us.

They were the ones who removed their young person from structured education, so you inherit their fears and philosophies as well.”

Alongside the growth in local home education, virtual schools are becoming a major part of the shifting educational landscape.

Minerva Virtual Academy (MVA), founded in 2021, has expanded from a handful of students to around 1,396 full-time learners across more than 55 countries, with 85% based in the UK.

The academy offers a structured online alternative for families who do not wish to return to mainstream schooling with annual fees of £8,800 make it accessible to families able to afford private provision.

Raw Perspective has found data that suggests SEND needs and mental health challenges are the primary reasons for enrolment, accounting for 36.8% and 28.1% of students.

Hugh Viney, CEO of MVA, highlighted the growing demand and the role of local authorities: “We work with 50 local authorities and those authorities are now sending us students and paying for them because they are seeing a big change.

We’re a viable alternative and local authorities are sending children to us against government advice.”

He told Raw Perspective: “They tend to be children with SEND, but also with mental health needs. There’s sometimes a bit of crossover. What we’re seeing more and more is the growth of the ‘lifestyle category’ where families are choosing a more effective or freer way of schooling even if the child has no specific need.”

MVA recently underwent an Ofsted inspection, earning an excellent report and accreditation as an online provider. However, Viney criticised the bureaucracy that continues to hinder the school’s nationwide recognition: “Ofsted submitted that report to the Department for Education, so we thought it would be an absolute stamp of approval for all local authorities in the UK.

But all the education power in local authorities has devolved. So even though we have the DfE stamp, every authority insists we apply for accreditation individually. It’s outrageous.”

He continued: “What we need is for parents to have options and currently, they don’t.”

Following a visit from seven Department for Education inspectors, Hugh presented two key proposals: that standard approval should be national so schools are not required to approach every individual local authority, and that providers should be formally recognised as “real schools”.

He said the inspectors were impressed by what they saw and by what he had created with £50,000.

Between 2017 and 2019, the UK reformed the GCSE grading system, replacing the legacy A*–G letter grades with a 9–1 numerical scale. Under this system, a 9 represents the highest attainment—exceeding the old A*—while 7–8 align with A/A*, 6 equates to a B, and 4–5 correspond to a C (with 5 designated as a 'strong pass' and 4 as a 'standard pass'). Grades 1–3 map to the former D–G range.

It is clear that academic outcomes at Minerva Virtual Academy challenge common assumptions about online education. 41% of students achieved grades 9–7 in English Language, compared with 16% nationally, while 90% secured grades 9–4 versus 60% nationwide.

Maths results were more varied, with 15% achieving grades 9–7 (against a 17% national average), though 72% achieved grades 9–4, significantly outperforming the 58% national benchmark. The data suggests strong overall attainment, particularly in English, which is notable given the high levels of SEND and mental health needs within the student body.

“People assume virtual schools mean no friends or socialising. We’re effectively a hybrid school with frequent meet-ups.

Ministers and the public still believe children must be in school, but those are old-fashioned views. We’ve shown that by breaking barriers, these children can be happy and learn again. Traditional schools cannot adapt because they have barriers that hinder learning”, he added.

While the Department for Education reported 1.29 million cases of persistent absence across England during the 2024/25 autumn and spring terms, Minerva Virtual Academy maintains an attendance rate of 98%. The academy’s success is built on an innovative model that balances 60% asynchronous self-study with 40% fixed lessons, supported by mandatory one-on-one weekly mentoring for every student.

Viney said: “The radical bit is not the online element; it’s the flipped learning model and mentorship.

This approach isn’t just good for some children, it’s the best option for many.”

West Northamptonshire’s educational landscape is at a breaking point and the traditional one-size-fits-all system is failing to meet the diverse needs of our children, leaving families to bridge the gap themselves—often at a significant cost.

The data is clear: innovative, flexible models are proving that children can thrive outside the traditional classroom.f

But for these solutions to scale, the bureaucracy must be dismantled and the freedom to choose a learning environment should be a right, not a logistical battle.

So it is time for our leaders to stop hindering the future and start building a system that actually serves the children.

The 33-year-old Saracens legend’s love of coffee took us to Fetter Lane, slap-bang in the heart of the City of London, where Jackson now fronts business development for Dowgate Wealth—a wealth management company that seems to have absorbed the very rugby values that set the tone for our conversation on a hot and breezy Thursday morning.

The three-time European champion, six-time league winner and one-time Championship title winner is off-limits and on the clock, yet the hour I spend with Wray reveals his philosophies that have shaped his rugby career and his life after it.

Being an Essex lad, Jackson carries a conversational, high-energy style that is useful for breaking down walls. Journalists—especially those who are Northampton Saints fans —often appreciate that authenticity!

Throughout two decades and 309 caps for Saracens, Jackson approached every season with a growing sense of pragmatism: "I had my rugby CV and my off-field CV, and they both developed quite nicely," he tells me. His success in the City isn’t a surprise and it seems it’s the result of keeping one foot in the boardroom door while his body was on the pitch.

He admits to a self-imposed "pessimism," always assuming his next contract might be his last. That mindset forced him to be proactive and to understand that "some of the network [you build, you] don't even know where it's gonna come into play."

For most, the end of a professional sports career is uncertain. However, it was an exit through a door he had unlocked himself. "I had a contract on the table at Saracens," he tells me, but in the end I said no. I wanted a change, so it meant I was able to have that choice.”

But Jackson’s professional roots are inextricably linked to a Saracens era that would define a generation of English rugby. He speaks of the 2008 academy set—the likes of Owen Farrell, Jamie George, and George Kruis—with the same fondness I had for my life of hedonism at university.

It was an era built on the ashes of a pre-existing legacy but he remembers the summer of 2008 as a chaotic, pivotal reset known as ”Black Monday.” With a queue of players lined up to hear whether their futures lay inside or outside the club, a massive exodus followed.

“There were 15 or 20 people that left the club that year,” Wray recalls. “That summer, we had 15 new players and a whole new academy group. We were actually wearing name tags because we didn’t know who each other were.”

But while others were settling into the established pathway, Jackson’s route took a detour to South Africa. Sent to Stellenbosch at 17 for an exchange programme with Western Province, his development was overseen by an unlikely guardian: Brendan Venter.

“We’d meet for coffee every month, just to make sure I was okay,” Jackson recalls and it was the beginning of a bond that would eventually pull him back to North London.

By the spring, Venter had delivered the pitch that would cement Jackson’s future: ‘Come back and I’ll take you under my direction.’

“We were the constants” he tells me. “Because we loved it there, we were happy, and once you start to win, you never want to leave.”

With Brendan Venter set to reclaim the helm next season, the club is looking to recapture the unique spirit that defined its rise. The re-entry of Venter will mark the closing of the Mark McCall era—a fifteen-year tenure that saw Saracens ascend to the pinnacle of European rugby and weather the darkest chapter of its history.

As he sips on his iced coffee through a paper straw, Jackson’s thick frame softens. “It was a valuable chapter,” he says, reflecting on the salary cap scandal where Saracens went from European champions to the league’s pariahs overnight.

“Everywhere you went, you were booed,” Jackson recalls. Coming off the bus at Kingsholm, fans “were throwing fake money and flicking celery with little caps on top at the bus… which was actually quite good for Gloucester fans!”

But for the players, the real heartbreak was seeing Nigel Wray—a man who had backed the club since 1995—dragged through the mud. For Jackson, the ensuing season in the Championship, played in empty, Covid-stricken parks, was a test of character. It would have been easy to walk away, but he chose to stay and fight.

When they finally won the Premiership in 2023, the victory became a vindication of a culture that many had written off. “Seeing Nigel happy again with that trophy” after two years of vitriol was the emotional closure Jackson needed.

But returning to the pinnacle of English rugby after such a public fall was, by any sporting metric, a miracle. And our conversation lands in a week that feels particularly resonant with Bath having emerged as the Premiership’s biggest spenders, and with an average player salary across the league now sitting at £191,000.

It’s clear though from our conversation that the scandal was a strange, high-stakes prelude to the professional challenges he faces today in the City.

“You look at some of the documents now, and you think, I’m not sure,” his tone reflective. “But look, it is what it is… To go through that, come back, and build again was the most poetic part of it.”

As the Saracens back row grew younger and more competitive with the rise of talent like Ben Earl, Andy Christie, and Tom Willis, Jackson found himself facing a new reality.

“You go from starting every week to maybe starting most games,” he reflects. “I had to ask myself: do I want to be on the bench to be on the edge and be a goal? It was hard to do that and I wasn’t particularly comfortable doing that.”

That professional friction, coupled with the “opportunistic” timing of a new life at Dowgate, made the decision clear. He didn’t want to wait for an injury to make the choice for him. Instead, he leaned into a philosophy he holds dear: always leave a little on the table.

“It doesn’t matter if it’s a night out or a career,” he says. “You’ve got to leave some on the table.” By walking away on his own terms, he preserved not just his body, but his relationship with the club.

For any professional, the absence of an international cap is often framed as a missing piece of the puzzle. Pundits often point to Jackson’s long-standing excellence at Saracens and question why the call never came.

“Sometimes, the coach-player fit just isn’t there,” he says. “I was very close with Stuart Lancaster and I’m pretty sure if he’d stayed on, I would have got that cap. We got on well and he liked what I was doing.”

Jackson points to teammates like Alex Goode as proof that brilliance doesn’t always guarantee a seat at the international table. “Alex was playing some of the most incredible rugby in the country, but he didn’t fit the specific mould the coaches wanted at the time. I was the same. I was 25 or 26, starting games, winning trophies with Sarries, and not getting a look-in. It was frustrating.”

Yet that allowed Jackson to step up into leadership roles when his teammates were away on international duty.

“I loved those games,” he says. “You’d go down to Gloucester or Sale on a Friday night, missing half your squad, and you’d have to find a way to win. It was ugly, it was scrapping, and it was where you really learned how to lead.”

Looking back, he’s made peace with the timing. “Sometimes the timing just isn’t on your side,” he admits. “But I’ve had a lot of timing on my side in other areas of my life, so I can’t complain.”

As our conversation draws to a close I ask if Wray were to drop a manual on the desk of a 17-year-old walking into the Saracens academy today what the opening chapter would be?

“Don’t take any moment for granted.”

“Every conversation matters,” he tells me. “Whether it’s with players, coaches, or sponsors. You compound those things over ten, fifteen years, and that’s where the respect comes from. That’s where the fulfilment is.”

“If you can commit fully to the moments in between,” he says, “you’ll leave a better person. And you’ll get exactly what you wanted out of it.”

It’s the most “Saracens” thing he’s said all day. And, looking at where he is now, it’s clear that for Jackson Wray, the whistle may have blown, but he spent long enough planning for what followed that the transition scarcely feels like an ending at all.

The “Unite the Kingdom” rally, led by Tommy Robinson, was framed as a grand defence of national identity. Yet, walking among the crowd, the reality felt far more fractured and derivative.

Here is what I saw:

There is a hunger for belonging that is clearly being satisfied here. When you are lost in the anonymity of a globalised, rapidly changing city and world, the prospect of donning a flag and standing alongside thousands of others—all signaled by the same colors—offers a seductive sense of clarity and purpose. It is the visual equivalent of a security blanket.

It signaled an ideological outsourcing and a movement that felt the need to import a foreign template to articulate its grievances at home.

The prevalence of these items suggested that for many, this wasn’t necessarily about a deep, historical understanding of the nation, but rather about adopting a legible, recognisable costume that signals, “I am part of this tribe.”

There was a poignant irony in the sea of “Make England Great Again” hats moving through Westminster.

Patriotism itself is not ironic and people’s grievances, anxieties and attachment to their country are real, and deserve to be taken seriously.

But what felt conflicted was the way those feelings were being expressed: through a borrowed political aesthetic imported from America, repackaged into a kind of performance and a modern populist spectacle.

I found myself capturing the performative nature of the anger: the middle fingers extended toward imaginary critics, the posing beneath historic statues to “reclaim” history and “our streets”.

By standing atop telephone boxes or positioning themselves beneath the gaze of historic monuments, they were engaging in a symbolic occupation.

They were attempting to cast themselves as the rightful heirs to the nation, physically placing themselves above the very institutions they claimed to be protesting against.

People noticed the lens immediately and some wanted to be seen, loudly. Others hardened themselves as soon as the camera appeared — shoulders back, chin raised, middle fingers lifted toward imagined enemies somewhere beyond the frame.

The contradictions appeared everywhere.

That was perhaps the strangest part of the day: the rally presented itself as historic and existential, as though the nation stood at the precipice of collapse. But outside the crowd, the city barely paused.

As a photographer, I was there to record the evidence, but the most profound insight was simply this:

that in our search for a place to belong, we are often willing to perform the most absurd roles, provided the applause is loud enough.

As Will Hooley joins our call, the brightness of his crisp white ‘Girl Dad’ T-shirt mirrors his upbeat aura, marking a new chapter for the former Northampton Saint and USA fly-half as he balances newborn fatherhood in California with the demands of ESPN+ broadcasting.

Before I get into understanding more about his journey, Will takes the lead: “What would be the dream role?” he asks.

“Features” I proclaim.

“What you need to do is work back from what you want to do. I tell current and former players this as well. For some rugby guys, they don’t even know what they want to do after playing. You don’t necessarily have to know exactly what you want to do, but you want to know what you’re curious in…You’re ahead of that.”

As I absorb Hooley’s encouragement, I learn that his transition into the media landscape wasn’t something he stumbled into once the final whistle blew on his playing career in 2023.

“My path into media really came from a period of misfortune,” Hooley explains. “I was playing for Exeter Chiefs and got a very bad concussion. At the time, I was doing an Open University degree in History, which I wasn’t really enjoying.

Because of the concussion, I couldn’t look at computer screens and fell behind. It was almost a blessing.”

But it was Exeter’s Head of Media Communications, Mark Stevens, who tapped into Hooley’s interests outside the pitch, asking him to contribute to the match-day magazine.

“I did an interview with an Exeter legend,” Hooley recalls. “From that article, I got approached to do a part-time distance learning degree in sports journalism at Staffordshire University.”

Before long, he was filing copy for The Guardian while competing on rugby’s biggest stage at the 2019 Rugby World Cup, where he featured in a 45–7 defeat against his native England.

Having previously won the IRB World Rugby Under 20 Championship with England, Hooley qualifies to play for America through his Los Angeles-born grandmother and explains that he “feel[s] an extra drive to give back because they gave me a lot.”

“Call it ego, but I liked being known as not just Will Hooley the rugby player, but the player who also had a column or a podcast.”

“[But] my love for media came from storytelling,” he says. “There was something about it — you had to perform and then you were judged on it.

It’s very much like playing. Call it ego, but I liked being known as not just Will Hooley the rugby player, but the player who also had a column or a podcast. I started building that in 2016; I wasn’t waiting for retirement.”

However, by the time the moment came to hang up the boots, Hooley had already begun building an exit strategy on his own terms.

“The only slight regret was that I wanted to finish [my career] at the 2023 World Cup,” he says. “But the US didn’t qualify and I missed the qualification tournament because I tore my shoulder out. Then we lost the MLR championship final. So, on a rugby front, it wasn’t a fairytale.”

Still, the absence of a storybook ending has done little to diminish his sense of fulfilment. If anything, it accelerated his transition into a role that now sits at the centre of American rugby’s uncertain but ambitious future.

Hooley’s transition has coincided with a precarious moment for Major League Rugby itself. Founded in 2017, the Dallas-based competition has spent nearly a decade attempting to establish a sustainable professional rugby structure in the United States. After peaking at thirteen clubs in 2022, including teams in Canada, MLR has since contracted to six franchises for the 2026 season.

The league is trying to solve the very “pathway” problem Hooley repeatedly returns to: how to create a pipeline of talent in a sporting ecosystem dominated by the NFL, NBA and college athletics.

But the challenge of growing the game stateside is far removed from the rugby landscape Hooley left behind in England, having played for Northampton Saints, Moseley, Exeter Chiefs, Bedford Blues and Saracens.

In Britain, audiences grow up with an instinctive understanding of the sport; in America, every fan must first be taught how to read the game.

“There’s something unique about this market,” he says. “You have to work damn hard to promote a project. In the US, you’re educating the audience while competing with massive sporting markets.”

“I love this game and I want America to love this game,” Hooley says. “When an American who has never watched rugby before says, ‘That was amazing,’ that is pretty awesome.”

“Taking the job was one of the best achievements of my career because I did it on my terms,” he says. “I don’t miss playing because I got to make the decision.”

Having already decided 2023 would be his final season, Hooley turned down a three-year contract offer from San Diego Legion to pursue media work full time.

But Hooley sees the strategy for growth as a race against time, with the 2031 World Cup serving as the ultimate finish line. By positioning Major League Rugby in the springtime—effectively occupying the vacuum left by the NFL—he believes they are crafting a viable window for exposure.

“The perception is that it’s a hugely respected sport — ‘contact sport without pads,’” Hooley explains. And “Americans love [American] football, so there’s respect, but the sport isn’t always in front of them. It’s about accessibility.”

But building a league is only half the battle. Echoing the sentiment of former MLR boss, Nic Benson, Hooley believes the potential for growth is immense if the industry can bridge the gap between curiosity and consistent viewership.

“There’s millions of rugby fans in America, they just don’t know it yet,” he says. “To reach them, we need to be on big channels like ESPN. But it’s also in grassroots. It’s about getting the ball into schools so people know what this other oval-shaped ball is.”

“It’s about getting the ball into schools so people know what this other oval-shaped ball is.”

“Unlike the UK, where I was with Northampton Saints from age 12, the US doesn’t have that same professional pathway yet. We need to make it easier to access.”

“I said to myself that I want to be better in this media career than I was as a player,” he tells me. “That’s my drive. I don’t want to be average.”

It is a striking admission from a man who has already reached the pinnacle of his sport, but it’s precisely that mindset that makes his transition feel so organic at a time when it is most needed in North America

So looking at him now — balancing the demands of a new daughter, a high-pressure broadcasting role, and the ambitious goal of evangelising a sport in a foreign market — it is clear that Will Hooley is engineering a life after rugby after all; and one positioned to grow as World Rugby shakes up its traditional structures.

To understand the thinking behind this movement, Raw Perspective profiled Mark Arnull, the Reform UK Leader of West Northamptonshire Council.

This is the full, unvarnished conversation.

Mark Arnull has served as the Leader of West Northamptonshire Council since the May 2025 local elections, where Reform UK gained a majority. This interview took place in December 2025.

RP: Do you think a personal profile would help present you more positively?

MA: I came into politics just over a year ago, and early on I realised that for Reform to succeed in local politics, first and foremost it required visibility, transparency, and presence. And secondly, turn up, do what you say you’re going to do and number three, be honest.

People voted for my party based on its colours and ideology, and then it relates to the reality that you only get when you run a council.

RP: What was your childhood like?

MA: I grew up in Daventry in a working-class family, my dad worked in a factory, and my mum worked as a secretary. I went to St James’s Infant School, then the Abbey, and later to the Daintree comprehensive on the Southbrook estate.

It wasn’t always easy, and I always felt a bit different. I wasn’t diagnosed with ADHD until I was 41, so looking back, it explains a lot about my youth. I don’t see it as a disadvantage if anything, it’s a quality. Politics has been the cure for me: it’s fast-paced and complex, and my mind thrives in that environment, fitting all the pieces together.

RP: What motivates you to serve every day as a councillor and a leader?

MA: From the outside, there were things I took exception to in how the council was run. I didn’t think that our council, at that point, did the job of being very visible, contactable or relatable to residents. It’s about the day to day connected reality of making people feel like they’re actually back in charge and that people have a grip on democracy.

RP: But we haven’t really seen any major policy reforms since last summer?

MA: Since taking office, we’ve been dealing with legacy issues from the previous administration, but we’re now shaping our own budget and governance. A big part of my focus is making sure the public understands what the council can actually control.

RP: Potholes…

MA: In the first six months, we repaired twice as many roads in the same period last year. If you look at our figures, the amount of road repairs measured in square metres or kilometres has nearly doubled.

RP: But residents aren’t thinking in sq metres; they’re thinking about the potholes on their own streets.

MA: Through the communication chains we’ve been able to explain what we’re doing. Rather than fixing individual potholes one by one, we’ve focused on repairing larger stretches of road. Areas like Kingsley, St Matthews, and others have seen significant improvements. By working this way, our teams are more efficient, and overall we’ve been able to complete twice as much work as before.

RP: With such a large budget, surely you could do more?

MA: What can we actually put the change on when we’ve got 65% of services constricted to children’s and adult social care, education and so forth? There’s very little weight left and low hanging fruit to take away to make things better and the challenges we’re facing now.

RP: There’s an opportunity here for you to try and get my generation to understand your parties ideology.

MA: You have to consider the size and breadth of the electorate, Generation X and Y are still very much active. A young man recently came to a branch meeting I spoke at and asked what we’re doing for the youth. That struck a chord with me, because I started working in the Northampton County Council youth service when I was 16.

By the end of my time there, particularly in Daventry, the youth service had been stripped back and effectively ended by the Tory administration in 2005 which is still felt today.

RP: If people in West Northamptonshire aren’t happy, is it the central government’s fault, or yours?

MA: Part of our administration’s priority is being clear about what we can and can’t do, and what falls within our responsibility. We handle all sorts of casework, and I have a good relationship with our MPs. Some attend meetings, others don’t, and some I see regularly at events. It can be challenging to explain to residents what we actually do, but for the next couple of years, that will be our focus.

RP: Where do you draw the line between being disruptive and politically reckless?

MA: I think we’ve seen a lot of this over the last few years. After the 2024 general election, I was working on an event in London for ACDC. At the first gig, we had a Tory government; a few days later, at the second gig, there was a Labour government. The audience was the same, but the mood was completely different. Many were coming from outside London and it was a great opportunity to talk to people and leverage opinion. Politics has long been waiting for a disruptor, and Nigel has been that agent of change for change in politics for a number of years.

RP: Good change?

MA: I think so.

RP: Why do you think so?

MA: We have long-standing evidence from economic outcomes to international examples showing the benefits. That’s why we’ve set ambitious net zero targets.

RP: But you’re saying that as if that’s what people want?

MA: People want reality, and they want to feel that they’ve got value for money in their pockets and their best intentions are held at heart. They can have a normal life, earn money, save their money, not be taxed on every dime that they’ve got, and deliver and have a healthy and sustainable life. Having responsible people in local government looking after their interests is what they voted for on 1st May 2025.

RP: And do you think that is happening?

MA: Only the outspoken critics are heard publicly, but the silent majority sit there and agree.

RP: What do you actually mean?

MA: I think there’s still a local fear of being seen to agree with your points of view. I’ve got an opposition party in Council and the other day they tried to torpedo my motion and succeeded. A row of people in his own party agree with that point on digital ID. The national point of the Conservative Party is opposition to digital ID, yet the leader made a point of order, but it was caveated very clearly that West Northamptonshire would not take part in trials, take costs on to then do something we don’t politically agree with.

RP: You’ve mentioned your leader, Nigel Farage. How do you stand in representing West Northamptonshire knowing your leader has racism allegations against him?

MA: I’m not here to comment on the past or any of that process. My role is to represent West Northamptonshire.

RP: That doesn’t answer my question.

MA: I’m not prepared to step into that realm. I’m here as the West Northamptonshire leader, representing the people who overwhelmingly voted for my party at the last election. You could go to Trump, people voted him regardless with information in the public domain but if you’re asking for my personal opinion, I’m not here to give that.

RP: Of course you have an agenda within your own morals to lead this council, to be the Reform leader for West Northamptonshire. At some point, your personal and political agendas must intersect and…

MA: Sorry, I just need to pick something up that came in urgently.

He pauses for an agonising 1 minute and 36 seconds.

You’re lucky you got thirteen minutes without disruption. That doesn’t normally happen.

RP: Ready?

MA: You’ve requested this under slightly different pretences, but that’s fine. We’re talking about my leadership of West Northamptonshire. If you want to talk about the national leadership of Reform UK, you need to contact the Westminster press office; they’ll be very happy to talk.

RP: I’m here to get your opinion on this, and I’m going to do so. But it won’t work if you don’t give me your full attention.

MA: I’m a leader of a council with a £1.1 billion budget in an emergency situation. I have to take my political duty first.

MA: Should we just clear the air and carry on?

RP: The asylum accommodation is not just Reform rhetoric, right?

MA: In West Northamptonshire all parties in the council agree with the stance of the administration that the use of hotels for that purpose in West Northamptonshire is inappropriate and needs to stop. The question is about material change and use in planning.

We’ve taken the first stage action in terms of planning contravention. Ultimately, it isn’t about asylum in West Northamptonshire. It’s about planning and upholding the planning law and the responsibilities around the planning authority. So we’re in the process of now taking that advice, acting upon that advice, and then doing what we need to do.

RP: Reform UK often frames the migrant issue as one of the country’s biggest crises, even though there are many other issues facing the UK. Does that kind of rhetoric further polarise them from other political parties?

MA: Reform is very capable of highlighting national issues, and while ‘polarising’ might not be the right word, we do bring attention to concerns that people genuinely have. The cost of uncontrolled migration, not only is it the economic impacts, as well as its the material and cultural impact to society as well. So yes, it meets with people’s disapproval the way it’s sometimes put across.

You go around the doorsteps, “got stop the boats” people don’t want it, that’s what they tell you. They’ll tell you that at local level, and yes, to some degree, they will vote for a national party’s identity at local level.

There’s the legacy of mismanagement, under previous political leadership. So you’ve got that in a national government reform going on, it’s going to have to deal firmly with some key issues.

And we’ve got three and a half years potentially before the next general election, and you go how much further down the road do you get before the next five years from the election is going to yield what?

RP: ‘Stop the boats’ was a Conservative manifesto line, people don’t just want to hear that repeated.

MA: The numbers went up. We’ve been very clear on this, Nigel and Richard Tice have both said the same. The current government talks about it, but our policy is firm: we would leave the ECHR, and we’re committed to a system of detain and deport.

RP: Do you deny climate change?

MA: No, I don’t.

I believe we can take measurable steps to improve sustainability and reduce environmental impact in ways that directly affect the daily lives of West Northamptonshire residents. We encourage rainwater harvesting, particularly as drought warnings come from Anglian Water. Reservoir volumes are low, Pitsford and Rutland are notably affected and the UK hasn’t built a new reservoir since 1992. We’ve all seen the changes in weather: sudden, heavy downpours causing flooding, and extreme events that weren’t as common before. These are real challenges that require practical, local responses.

RP: If you had the opportunity to cook a meal for Nigel Farage and the leaders of other central government parties, what would you cook and why?

MA: I’d go traditional, the best of british beef with all the trimmings, I’d start the conversation over a good red wine, and end with a cigar.

RP: And a 20 pack of cigarettes?

MA: I think what a lot of people like about Nigel is that he’s the working man’s hero. That reflects a significant move amongst public feeling about where they place their trust. The big thing that residents in West Northamptonshire can take comfort in is that this is not arm’s length, management of councils, leadership of councils. This is politics strongly delivered with a strong connection to the center. All the council leaders meet once a week. So we’re regularly in touch. I’ve talked to the leaders around the country in the last 24 hours as well. We share knowledge.

RP: Budget?

MA: A red box of disaster for local residents!

If we were looking at a Band B at £2,200 and a 5% rise was 110 then 1% off, that would be 22 pounds. What can you buy for it that you would go with that?

MA: What can you buy for £22 that you would go with that?

RP: A pack of fags.

We both agreed that you wouldn’t get much change from that.

MA: I stopped smoking a while ago, but I enjoyed it when i was in the trade and now I’m in a trade that I should be doing, in politics you do it with a brandy.

RP: What tangible things can give people confidence that you’re the right person for the job?

MA: It’s about safe, steady stewardship of local government and maintaining transparency at every stage. Just a few nights ago, at a scrutiny meeting, I watched the member for housing present a paper on bringing Northamptonshire Partnership Homes back under council control from being arm’s length. That was a very big decision, made with accountability and oversight from housing regulators.

The goal is to ensure homes meet decent standards, improve tenant engagement, and strengthen communication between tenants and the council. The level of public participation in the consultation already shows our reach and ability to enable services effectively. Given the current trajectory of central government, the challenge is keeping local government afloat, avoiding financial hardship, and ensuring stability.

When we took office last May, the council’s reputation wasn’t high. Since then, we’ve been moving it in the right direction, maintaining steady governance in uncertain times.

RP: You’ve chosen to opt out of diversity and inclusion training. How does that sit with residents who identify as LGBTQIA+?

MA: The general feeling is that we don’t need diversity training to treat people equally, and it’s simply about treating people in employment on merit alone and not making specific hires just to tick boxes… and that’s why at Christmas, I’ll be out on the ground with the refuse collectors and grounds workers having a coffee and a mince pie at half past six, because I care about the workforce.

Everyone will be treated and respected equally.

Yet, for all the talk of a new political era, Thursday’s Hackleton and Roade by-election offered a sobering reality check for the Green insurgency in West Northamptonshire Despite a high-decibel campaign from Dave Pearson — arguably the councillor most responsible for putting local air quality on the agenda — the ballot box told a different story.

Using data from Letterboxd, Raw Perspective News analysed the average runtimes of the top 10 box office films each year over the past 30 years.

Since 1995, average runtimes have increased, with blockbusters steadily creeping past the two-hour mark – reflecting filmmakers’ willingness to craft more expansive and complex stories.

And between 2020 and 2023, the average film run time increased by 15%, before a 10% decrease between 2023 and 2025.

But has our perception of what counts as ‘long’ changed?

British director Naqqash Khalid, co-writer of Good Boy (110 minutes), starring Stephen Graham, believes it has.

RP: Do you feel there’s more pressure now to justify a cinema ticket price with length?

NK: Ticket prices are tragic and are the reason why less people are going to the cinema. I don’t think that has anything to do with what an audience wants or expect’s from a film’s length. Audiences want and deserve quality.

RP: In the 1990s, films like Pulp Fiction felt long at 154 minutes. Now that length feels almost standard. Has our perception of “long” changed?

NK: The attention economy has changed, I think what we consider 154 minutes today - the value and ask of that - just on a chemical and perceptive level - is not the same 154 mins of the 90’s. If a film is going to be that long, it has to earn the ask of that.

RP: Do you think audiences have lost patience for slow openings, or do they simply demand constant stimulation?

NK: I think an audience for an independent film vs a studio film will have different expectations from that kind of filmmaking. Ultimately, I think we go to the cinema to see a different reality on screen , experience characters, a specific vision or viewpoint of the world.

I personally feel a film is an act of imagination and invention and should be as long or as short as the filmmaker has designed it to be.

“If a film is going to be that long, it has to earn the ask of that.”

Speaking recently on The Joe Rogan Experience to promote his latest film The Rip (118 minutes), Matt Damon highlighted the challenges of modern filmmaking in the attention economy saying how filmmakers are encouraged to structure movies with multiple high-impact sequences and recurring plot reminders to maintain viewers’ attention.

He said: “You are watching in a room, the lights are on, other s**t is going on, the kids are running around, the dogs are running around. It is just a very different level of attention that you are willing, or that you are able to give to it.”

In an attempt to promote his new film, Damon further explained: “It is going to really start to infringe on how we are telling these stories.

“And it would not be terrible if you reiterated the plot three or four times in the dialogue because people are on their phones while they are watching.”

However, the top 10 most-streamed Netflix movies reveal that highly popular films are often on the longer side, with runtimes ranging from roughly 120 minutes up to 140 minutes. For exampleAdam McKay’s Don’t Look Up is the fourth most streamed movie on Netflix, with a runtime of 143 minutes, but significantly longer than the top-streamed K-Pop: Demon Hunters, which clocks in at just 95 minutes.

This suggests that while shorter films may attract larger viewership initially, audiences are willing to commit to longer narratives when the content is engaging and accessible on-demand.

Franchises such as Harry Potter, The Lord of the Rings, and the MCU continue to dominate the long movie length charts.

And data shows that ensemble finales are consistently the longest MCU films, reflecting the need to balance multiple characters, subplots, and action sequences, which suggests that despite concerns about modern attention spans, audiences tolerate and even expect extended runtimes when the content is engaging.

This trend is evident in the franchise’s growing runtimes: early entries like Iron Man and Thor ran 120–130 minutes, The Avengers (2012) reached 143 minutes, Avengers: Infinity War (2018) 149 minutes, and Avengers: Endgame (2019) peaked at 181 minutes.

With early reports suggesting Avengers Doomsday could be one of Marvel’s longest films, running to 225 minutes, the challenge for filmmakers in 2026 is no longer how long a story should be, but how to keep an audience inside it.

According to research by the Reuters Institute for the Study of Journalism, the number of freelance journalists in the UK has risen from 17% in 2015 to 28% in 2023.

While journalism continues to evolve digitally, many of the structural challenges remain: inequalities in pay, barriers to entry, and an industry still dominated by legacy media organisations.

The role of AI is a whole other story, but here is some context:

At the same time, new models of journalism are emerging.

Platforms like Substack let journalists like me build direct relationships with readers. Instead of relying on ads or large media companies, we can publish independently and be supported by the people who value our work.

Independent journalism makes it possible to report beyond algorithms, ad metrics, and corporate agendas. It enables deeper analysis, more thorough investigations, and perspectives that might otherwise be overlooked—while staying responsive to what you, the reader, actually want.

That is the vision behind Raw Perspective News.

But today, I want to announce the next step in its evolution.

Raw Perspective began as a space for social commentary on my place in the world, as well as a platform to examine the media landscape and explore the realities of modern journalism.

Now it is becoming something more.

Raw Perspective News will be a reader-supported platform dedicated to independent reporting, analysis, and media insight. The goal is simple: to create journalism that is thoughtful, balanced, and transparent.

This is the beginning of a longer journey and one that aims to build a small but committed newsroom model, supported directly by readers who believe independent journalism is worth sustaining.

To support this project, I am pledging my fellow readers to pay £24 per year.

That’s roughly £2 per month.

Your support will help fund:

• Independent reporting

• Sports Journalism

• Data Journalism

• Readers’ comments, allowing you to give your opinion on the type of reporting you want to see

• The long-term development of Raw Perspective News as a reader-supported media project

Most importantly, it helps prove that journalism can still exist outside the traditional models that are currently under strain.

Why me?

After stints at the Financial Times writing features and producing front-page photos for the daily and weekend editions, I’m turning to Substack to tell stories that rarely get green-lit in traditional newsrooms.

My passion for journalism began during my BA in Photojournalism and Documentary Photography at the University of the Arts London. While studying there, I realised the creative industry stereotypes surrounding visual journalism weren’t the direction I wanted to follow.

Instead, I became increasingly drawn to the world of broadsheet journalism, more specifically news features.

Raw Perspective News is an opportunity to pursue that kind of journalism independently.

But why should you care?

Because large news organisations will continue to exist, but independent journalists and smaller reader-supported outlets will increasingly play an important role in the ecosystem.

And with your support, Raw Perspective News can become a part of what journalism will look like next.

After a two-hour delay on the Luton runway, I was grateful to sit next to an amazing woman from East London with a husband and young daughter. Her work as a strategist gave me the direction I needed to keep writing and moving, when my place in journalism feels neither here nor there.

And for many moments on Sunday, 22nd March 2026 I was neither here nor was I there there.

Eventually, after touching down in Rome, I realised I had arrived through a series of attempts—attempts to quit, attempts to change, attempts to hold onto things, and let go of them at the same time.

Ten months ago, I tried to give up smoking.

And the Rome Marathon was a byproduct of the continuous routines I had been trying to replace, and my way of proving something without even knowing what it was that I was trying to prove.

Yet, in the days leading up to it, I basically realised I was about to be inducted into a cult.

40,000 people wanting to join the 1% club. £200 shoes, breathing devices to open up your airways and Garmin watches tracking your VO2 max—for what?

I had to remind myself it was a marathon and not a fucking race. I was not competing with anyone, not even myself, so why the fuck did I put my body through 26.2 miles of hell?

My journey towards running has been met with ample frustration around the facade of running, and how it is deemed to appear on our Instagram feeds.

The days leading up to and following the race, my algorithms were filled with people I don’t know and I don’t admire telling me, how they run. And the more I scrolled, the more subjected I become to these people, and the less objective I can write about a cult.

How can I even be objective anyway, when I have just joined one?

We are surrounded by them our entire lives, without ever knowing we are in them.

Rugby culture, expat culture and so on.

The word “culture” literally has “cult” in it. It is belonging to something.

But stepping out in Rome for a morning coffee, I found myself conforming to the pre-12PM cappuccino custom, and noticed something.

For once, I wasn’t in a rush.

I was able to take in what I was about to embark on.

Dolce far niente. The sweetness of doing nothing.

For me, that has never come naturally.

Smoking used to sit neatly inside those gaps. It gave them shape. It gave them purpose, even if that purpose was superficial.

But running has replaced those gaps and given me a new shape.

Only running and smoking don’t occupy the same space. One creates motion, and the other, quite frankly, interrupts it.

And for months, I’ve been trying to understand what it actually means to remove something that has been present in almost every facet of my life.

And yet, I finished the marathon and I quit smoking, but the same questions that were there before are still there now.

The cigarette still exists as a nostalgic thought. It was my marker of time, it’s merely that my marker of time has now become Strava.

They say all roads lead to Rome and obviously, my decision to quit smoking and start running didn’t begin here, but somehow it felt like it had been leading me there all along.

And maybe this was never about reaching a final decision, or a final version of anything.

Maybe it was about noticing what changes, and what doesn’t, when you just keep moving.

Inside a Mauchline factory in southwest Scotland, granite hundreds of millions of years old is shaped by hand for a sport that lasts just a few hours.

Curling stones begin their journey long before they slide onto Olympic ice — taking “six million years and five hours,” as Ricky English, Operations Manager of Kays Scotland puts it.

Kays Scotland is one of the oldest surviving manufacturers of sporting equipment in the world, and the sole producer of Olympic curling stones.

English, a Scotsman, has been with the company for just over a year, but speaks with the assurance of someone entrusted with custodianship rather than profit.

“I don’t think there are many companies in this area, or in Scotland, that are still going after 175 years,” he says.

The company’s granite comes from Ailsa Craig, a small volcanic island that rises out of the Firth of Clyde, visible from the Ayrshire coast on a clear day.

Kays Scotland, is located approximately 60 miles southwest of the Scottish capital, Edinburgh.

Mauchline, lying near the River Ayr, has roots dating back to the reign of King William I (1165–1214), when Walter Fitzalan granted the lands to Melrose Abbey to establish a monastic grange.

In the fifteenth century, the monks built Mauchline Castle, and in 1510 the town was granted the status of a free burgh of barony, allowing it to hold markets and fairs.

Kay’s contributes to the town’s identity alongside its literary and industrial heritage, reflecting the strong community spirit and sporting traditions that continue to be celebrated in East Ayrshire today.

Robert Burns captured the spirit of 18th-century Scottish life through his poetry while living near Mauchline.

Aisla Craig: the rock behind the sport

Often compared to “chess on ice”- it is these very stones that Team GB will use as they compete at the Milano 2026 Winter Olympics next month.

Kays extract two types of granite from the one square kilometre island: common green and blue hone. “Ailsa Craig is the only place in the world where blue hone exists,”English says.

The material is prized for its density and destiny, with each stone shaped, finished, and matched by hand.

Craft, sustainability and stewardship

Apprentices work alongside employees with decades of experience, some specialising in particular stages of the process. “It’s a collective effort,” English says.

“The guys down there, they’re really setting the standard.”

He explains the company’s commitment to sustainability, highlighting how damaged bits of granite are recycled into trinkets, wine stoppers, and even chess boards.

“The whole of the UK is trying to get to net-zero,” he continues. “You wouldn’t think it, but we’re part of that. There’s minimal waste in what we do. If we see a stone that’s no good for the process, it gets turned into giftware.”

“When we last extracted stone from Ailsa Craig, it was 600 tonnes,” English says. “That’s just 0.001 per cent of what’s available. In total, the island holds around 680 million tonnes of granite.”

Curling became a medal sport at the Winter Olympics in 1998; since then, the company has remained at the centre of the sport’s biggest moments, even as curling itself remains a niche interest in the UK outside Olympic years.

Each boulder is tracked from the moment it leaves Ailsa Craig and given an identification number before being placed onto what workers call the “cheese board”, where it is allocated a unique code that will follow it for the rest of its life. That number is logged digitally, allowing Kays to trace every finished stone back to its precise origin.

Once the stones are finished, Kays uses a bespoke algorithm to match them to individual players. By analysing factors such as height, weight and running band averages, the system predicts how a stone will curl on the ice, helping determine whether it is best suited to a skip, lead, second or third.

English himself spent more than 14 years working as a safety technician on North Sea oil rigs before joining Kays.

“[This is] old traditional bouldering,” he says, “but it’s often overlooked because everyone focuses on the curling stones and the Olympics. I want people to start seeing what we’re doing beyond that.”

Kays maintains a close relationship with British curling, with its stones forming the foundation of Team GB’s Winter Olympic ambitions.

“There’s something nice about knowing that when Team GB does well, most of their medals come from curling,” English says.

Even if curling were to lose its Olympic status, English believes the sport — and the stones — would endure. Club curling remains deeply embedded in countries all around the world and “The market will always be there,” his thick Glaswegian accent affirms.

With Itoje’s entrance into a vape-fumed Twickenham crowd marking his 100th cap, Maro’s milestone reflected years of yoke-bearing leadership at the helm of English rugby.

However, it was the voices of the Irish fans that drowned out the sorrows of Allianz Stadium’s pale February skies, as they stood tall, shoulder to shoulder, answering Andy Farrell’s call in what would be a painful fortnight for English rugby.

Leadership

England currently lack an authoritative leader on the field. Itoje, still on top from captaining the British & Irish Lions to victory down under last year, is also mourning the loss of his mother and in desperate need of time away.

With Ellis Genge and Jamie George as co-captains, England lack the decisive leadership required to navigate ongoing issues— on the field and within the RFU.

A dog can only have one master, and right now England look like a side with twelve other players barking up 12 different trees.

Yet it was Ford’s boot and leadership that set the tone: Ireland took their chances in England’s 22; England did not.

Having missed two kicks to touch early on, Ford’s boot became the brunt of good-natured banter from both the England and Irish fans, highlighting England’s inability to capitalise on penalties and make much needed territory.

Henry Pollock

Henry Pollock, making his first England start was a breath of fresh air in a vape‑fumed Twickenham. And even on a day dominated by the visitors, his energy and intent provided glimpses of promise.

But if Pollock is to cement a starting spot in the back row, he must match his ferocious intensity with equal discipline.

RFU’s Ivory Tower

Off the pitch, uncertainty continues, with RFU reforms adding another layer of complexity to an already fragile setup a dominant fraternity inside RFU HQ.

This week, a major overhaul of the Premiership and Championship scrapped traditional promotion and relegation in favour of a criteria‑driven, franchise-style model.

Clubs will now be assessed on financial stability, infrastructure, and on-field standards rather than results, with expansion planned to grow from 10 to 12 teams by 2030.

For England players already grappling with leadership gaps on the pitch, the move adds extra weight to an already fragile domestic game.

Keyboard Warriors

In the wake of Ireland’s performances at the start of the Six Nations campaign, there was noticeable backlash aimed at 23 year-old fly-half Sam Prendergast.

Andy Farrell publicly defended Prendergast but when Raw Perspective spoke to him after Ireland’s biggest ever win at Twickenham, he shrugged it off with characteristic calm.

He said: “Have they still been abusing? I’ve not been reading. Apparently that’s life, isn’t it? It’s not my life anyway. It’s certainly not these lads’ lives.

We tend not to take it on and just try to play forward.”

Fin Smith and George Ford

When asked whether there had been a lack of leadership from George Ford, and if that might open the door for Fin Smith to step in, Borthwick blubbered:

“I think George has done so much good for England for such a long period of time and particularly over the last spell. I thought the way George played in the autumn was outstanding.”

I thought two weeks ago, he played real well here against Wales.”

He continued: “I know you want to talk about individuals, the team, it's all of us today, all of us. Last week we didn't find a way to get the result we wanted to and that's all of our responsibility.”

RP pressed whether Fin Smith would feature again, Borthwick, in his stoic northern accent lamented: “I think Fin Smith is an excellent player, as is Mark Smith, and we have some very good players and options in that position and in the 15 position also.”

Rome Preview

In response to back‑to‑back defeats, Steve Borthwick has ripped up the match‑day squad and made nine changes, the most radical overhaul England have made between two Six Nations fixtures in the professional era.

Fin Smith comes in at fly‑half in place of George Ford, while Tommy Freeman shifts again into centre.

In the back row, the spice rack is stocked with Guy Pepper, and Tom Curry, ready to heat things up against Quesada’s Italian side. Meanwhile, Ben Earl will make his 50th cap, adding his experience to a side hungry for victory.

They say all roads lead to Rome, and for England, every choice and every spark of creativity on the field tomorrow will lead Steve Borthwick down a road to redemption.

It’s a flash of luxury in a sport still fighting for mainstream attention.

“No, I wish,” the two-time world champion says, glancing down at the shoes in h…

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In this feature video, I speak with Arthur Savile, a London-born historian and tour guide, who traces the history of a pub that knows its place within the City of London.

If you go to any boozer across the UK, you’ll know that pubs are under pressure, weighed down by high costs and falling custom.

The Hand & Shears, however, seems untouchable.

When I meet Matthew Bell, a psychoanalyst and City of London councillor, his calm voice and measured manner lend weight to his reflections on the city he has called home for the last 30 years.

Yet, having lived in the oldest continually inhabited house in the City for 15 years, it’s clear that Bell’s relationship with the area is shaped by both professional and personal experience.

Bell: “They don’t really understand it until they live here and once they do, it’s a done deal”

Although we speak off camera, Bell’s voice matches the eclectic energy of the walls around us, he says: “This city has so much history that you can’t really escape it when you’re working here.”

I get the impression he has lived different versions of his life and, like these walls, has seen so much—but still recognises his place in the city.

It’s almost impossible for there not to be a collective memory because you’re saturated by it.” he says.

Sitting across from Bell, I feel that the melancholy of the city is palpable, but I am reminded not to confuse it with the realities of modern Britain.

With around 650,000 people working in the City and roughly 8,500 living in the area, the streets are poised for change.

Bell estimates that the closure of Smithfield Market, after 900 years of trading, will bring two million more visitors to the immediate neighbourhood each year.

Despite its proximity to major transport hubs and office districts, the streets around The Hand & Shears remain unusually quiet. “You can wander around and almost forget you’re in central London,” Bell says, underlining the calm that persists in the streets you will walk round at any time of day.

Bell believes that the market closing and the Museum of London opening will have an enormous impact on the area, yet the pub continues to draw a steady mix of locals and visitors.

As he notes of City residents, “Once people move into the City, they don’t want to leave.

They don’t really understand it until they live here and once they do, it’s a done deal.”

As redevelopment reshapes the City and long-established institutions close, The Hand & Shears will remain open; not untouched by change, but never overwhelmed by it either.

After graduation I took a two-year sabbatical in Beijing where I travelled and taught English.

Somewhere between cities, continents, and careers, I found myself slowly disconnecting from my grassroots and from the place that ultimately shaped me as an artist and writer.

I became dissatisfied and disillusioned with the media I was consuming and I felt a growing need to explore the relationship between the places that formed me and the artistic output I was producing in the places I had chosen to live.

Art in the Aftermath is the first episode in my new podcast series exploring the art scene in Northampton.

The first episode took me to Photomafia Studios, co-founded by Joe Westley and Alex Machiarelli, where I sat down with Joe in his studio, housed in an old shoe factory in the town centre.

Westley: “I don’t want to present this place as a typical UK town, because it’s really f***ing not”

Photomafia Studio is based in an old shoe factory now known as The Nene Enterprise Centre, named in homage to the River Nene that runs through Northampton. The building reflects the town’s long industrial heritage as a major hub of British shoemaking.

The episode also features an in-depth interview with Bill Pollard, a sign writer and artist whose studio-home sits a stone’s throw from Photomafia Studios.

Pollard: “The old man had the world’s top architects like Alsop and Zogolovitch sitting round our kitchen table”

At the time of my visit, Bill was in the midst of setting up an exhibition titled Small Town Ghosts: Familiar Strangers, bringing together the work of 30 artists exploring the hidden and everyday moments that shape our lives.

“I’m a curator and facilitator whose practice revolves around engagement and simple joy,” Bill said. “I’m motivated by a desire to see people from all walks of life involved in creative endeavours.”

Westley: “We’re not in a space that is on a national map, but we’re being fed all of the stuff that is on a national map… Learning to appreciate what makes the place interesting can be difficult because you’ve grown up here and you’re numb to it”

The collective art scene in Northampton is pushing back against gentrification, underfunding, and cultural neglect — forming its own networks outside of London and occupying spaces others are unwilling to enter.

Pollard: “I know that it’s incredibly beneficial to me spiritually, mentally, physically, but I have 50 years worth of art in this house and it’s quite difficult to bring something else into the world…even my carefully curated Instagram stream of what I see or as carefully curated as the algorithm will let me… is just elevator music for the eyes.”

Their respective studios gave me the closure I’d been searching for during a time when the line between photography and journalism became blurred while living 5,000 miles away.

Coming back and reconnecting with artists in a town fighting for its creative identity humbled me , and reminded me:

To keep writing.
To keep clicking.
And to keep connecting with the world around me.

I remember my secondary school, an all-boys school, and many a teacher banged on about there being three parts to homework. Taking it home, actually doing it, and then bringing it back to school. So maybe laundry can follow the same logic?

Stage one: Putting it on. I start strong. Load the machine, slam the door, and press the button. I can now reward myself: maybe a coffee, or nee cigarette. Perhaps I'll clean the kitchen. Maybe I'll go write. Maybe I'll change the cat litter or go for a run. Perhaps I'll procrastinate on literally everything else in my life, buoyed by the illusion that I'm being productive. If doing the washing doesn't scream the chance to kill two birds with one stone, then I don't know what does.

In fact, the second part can be removed because I don't have to even wash it. So, technically, I'm only responsible for 66% of the operation. But those last steps? That's where shit hits the fan, because the beep goes off and my brain says, fuck this.

I live in Beijing, which is in the northeast of China, and I have come to the conclusion that the climate has a vendetta against my laundry.

In summer, it's bone dry with an average temperature of 37°C. I know clothes will air-dry in an hour flat, so if all goes to plan, it should be a good day to be a drying rack.

Practically, the washing is going to dry in minimal time; however, the issue is that I am convinced I can get 4 loads of washing done, when frankly, I just want to enjoy my weekend.

Also, there is this place called the Gobi Desert. Which means sand and lots of it. Fine, orange sand that coats your drying clothes like some kind of post-apocalyptic wotsit breadcrumming.

I can win the war against humidity, only to lose to my sheer sense of procrastination.

I dread the winter, partly because the dampness and the generally poor state of rental accommodation in the UK has left a lasting mark on me but temperatures here can drop to –13°C. It's as if the mould back home is as inevitable as cockroaches in Beijing's hutongs. Mould and cockroaches, no thank you.

Hanging anything on the balcony? It just freezes into a solid block, ready to be used as a weapon to ward off the cockroaches. Inside the damp hangs in the air like a bad habit, and I know all too well about them.

So the washer-dryer combo is my last resort. The drying takes three hours, meaning there is an inevitable chance that the electricity will run out.

Electricity runs on a meter. If it cuts out mid-cycle, the clothes just sit there. Half-wet and festering (I'm going to go half wet for this one), leaving the drum to turn into a condensation chamber, and I have to start all over again.

At this point, it's no longer about the laundry; it's a statement and a small domestic failure that whispers you don't have your shit together.

Even when it's dry, there's organising it and then folding. I can fold, but I don't want to, so I don't. Putting away. Absolutely not.

Ironing? Forget it.

I don't think I even trust people who iron their clothes.

One last thought, is it actually possible to have every item of clothing clean, including the one you are wearing, before the cycle starts again?

I'm still trying to forgive myself for not doing my homework properly back in Year 9, so I definitely don't have the emotional energy to steam-press a T-shirt, naked, especially when I know it'll just end up in the dirty laundry basket 9 hours later…

*In the space of writing this, I have nearly completed two loads of washing, or at least it remains on the drying rack until the Beijing storms come…

I failed. Nine days in.

This is both an excuse and an explanation.

For nearly six years, I’ve been chasing something elusive: control. In hindsight it wasn’t even clarity or peace, just control. In fact, I yearned for control in the unpredictable world I’d created.

So I wanted and needed a challenge, something to conquer, to prepare myself for the near future.

And yet, I failed.

I thought leaving London for Beijing would help me articulate the loss and rediscovery of myself. But, if I’m honest, it was always about the cigarettes.

There were moments of sheer ineffability— that pictures, words, and blogs couldn’t capture—only a cigarette seemed to be able to.

And yet, it never did.

It’s a part of me I didn’t want, don’t want, and can’t quite let go of. My A-level philosophy teacher taught me the art of letting go in a short film I made. I wrote about it in my last piece. And still, I haven’t been able to.

Even living in the East, closer to Buddhism, I couldn’t let go.

Then it clicked.

When exposed to the way of Eastern living, the West becomes incomparable and inadequate.

I guess so did my problems. I realised that I wasn’t trying to let go—I was trying to hold onto something I never really had a grip on.

After realising my time in China is coming to an end, I found myself in Chongqing in late March. Gazing out at the midnight sky, thick with fog, where the Yangtze and Jialing rivers meet. In that quiet, foggy stillness, The Verve’s ‘Drugs Don’t Work’ piercing my ears, I thought this would be the moment, I would quit, cigarette in hand of course.

Standing there, looking at the meeting point of two rivers, it wasn’t just a view—it was symbolic of the blending cultures and currents I have experienced on my travels. I stood at the precipice of my own horizon, feeling vivid and vulnerable but one I’d been needing to face for some time.

Once again, I put two fingers up to the past and as I stubbed out that last cigarette putting two fingers down and throwing the half-full packet into the bin. I was sure this time that the pack couldn’t be half empty.

As the cities blurred, I again reflected on two things: in all these destinations, I knew the real journey had always been inward and that the cigarette was never just a habit, it was my refuge.

I had been holding onto heartbreak, heartache and hedonism.

The melancholy, mixed with the Marlboros, was how I measured the life I’d lived and the one I was carving out.

There’s a certain grace in facing addiction head-on, especially when it’s synonymous with your identity.

After reflecting on that night in Chongqing, I came to the conclusion that firstly the real horizon wasn’t the one that stretched across the polluted landscape but the one that lied within myself. Secondly that the cigarette wasn’t the answer, but a marker of my attempt to find one.

So perhaps after all it’s not the horizon that needs to shift—but my eyes that are seeing it.