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ANNAND AND ME

 THE END

Other people’s issues. Martin and I had a beautiful relationship but there was always someone who had an issue with it . It may seem strange to start my story at the end of someone’s life to tell their tale. The remarkable Mr Annand was no ordinary man, so his journey should be told just as the curtain is about to fall on his extraordinary life, an existence that for most parts was never quite what it seemed to so many.

 Mr Annand, or as we called him, Martin, looked up at me from the brown mobility chair, which he had become confined to during the day over the last few weeks of his life, his beautiful big blue eyes still reminding me of Jiminy Cricket from Pinocchio. Still full of hope, he smiled at me, pulled gently on my shirt and asked me to go and get a nice French bread stick – warm if possible – and some soup. He had been off his food for the last few days so it was a relief to hear him want something.

 There was only one problem. We needed to hide the bread from Nicos, Martin’s Greek Cypriot trust fund civil partner, as gluten and bread were taboo in the soulless flat that they shared in trendy Bloomsbury. Though the wood and lighting were incredible, it resembled an art gallery with uncomfortable furniture. Nicos ruled the roost in this place and would become hysterical and cruel when not getting his own way. Even traditional cooking was banned for fear that it would cause damage to any of the many art works.

 A splash of water, not wiped up from the sink tap, could cause a rage so powerful you would have thought you had flooded the flat.

 Nicos had allowed me to take joint care of Martin with great reluctance; only after he had worked out the actual cost of private nurses did he reluctantly give in. At first it was only to be when Nicos was at cross fit for three hours a day, or when he had his own hospital appointments. However, the workload was constant and eventually I stayed there 24 hours a day, and for this I was grateful Nicos allowed me to do so as it was so painful not to be with Martin 

It seemed odd to me: Nicos’ art collection in the UK and Cyprus had a value in the millions so if he had sold just one piece, it could have funded 24-hour private care. Martin always said that, despite Nicos’ wealth given to him by his father, he was incredibly tight. 

Nicos had just left for a workout and was meeting a friend after. Dashing up Tottenham Court Road to M&S, I returned quickly with some of Martin’s favourite fruit jellies, two small warm bread flutes and heart-warming chicken noodle soup. Frantically I cut the bread up into small slices and buttered them cleaning up after myself for fear that crumbs would be found. 

Martin Annand and Pam Sharrock and me in the South of France

The soup was being cooked in the microwave that was hidden so high up, cooking anything in it was a challenge. Even the kettle was in a cupboard to stop steam hitting any artwork that adorned the kitchen walls. Martin smiled as I brought it to him, “I am getting my appetite back”, he said, with some hope. Pointing out it was a good sign, I gave him a wink

. The man I had loved for forty years was dying and I was determined to keep my emotions in check and just be his rock. If I ever allowed the flood gates to open and show how I was feeling, my fear was that the tears would never stop, and that was the last thing he needed. Martin had a beautiful childlike quality that most people never got to see. He gave me a paw as I put the food down.

 Of course, he only managed a little bread and some soup. Just as he was about to get me to take it away the door opened. Nicos was there. “All right my love, what’s that you have got there?” he enquired, with his eyes throwing daggers of steel towards me. Explaining that he really wanted a bread roll and some soup, strangely Nicos did not react, although I made a hasty retreat to the kitchen to discard the evidence out into the bin in the communal areas of the block. 

There was only one flute of bread left by the side of the sink that was left to hide. Nicos had not gone to shower as he usually did on return from the gym and he was in the kitchen. To my amazement, he was cutting the spare French bread flute in to slices and covered them in strawberry Jam and organic Honey. Instinct told me to get out of the way to see Martin, and a wise decision it was.

 Ten minutes later Nicos came charging down the wooden plank floors of the corridor towards the bathroom slamming the door. He spent twenty minutes in there inducing himself to vomit. Eventually he came out and marched up to Martin, shoving his hands that stunk of sick up into Martin’s pale face. “Look what you made me do bring that into our home!” 

There was nothing I could do to stop Nicos. My heart often went out to him as he was so uncomfortable in his own body, I can only imagine what it must be like to wake up every day so unhappy in life. I do not think that I had ever seen him do a full day’s work in the twenty years I knew him. Martin wrote his correspondence for him, Nicos went for the odd meeting in Cyprus but for the most part, he went to the gym, shopped, attended gallery openings, and holidayed abroad a lot. What he devoted a lot of time to was sitting in judgement of other’s efforts, which he did with great ease. He really was the quintessential trust fund baby. 

Though Nicos’ and my relationship made Joan’s and Bette’s look like an easy one, he always had the upper hand. At first I had liked him as he was amusing, witty and we shared many of the same interests. He clearly had huge mental health issues, so to take him on was a fruitless task and only caused issues with me seeing my ex-partner, Martin.

 Over the years my radar went into no comment regarding his hatred of me, even during the campaign of daily phone text’s calling me every name you could imagine. Once he caught me off guard with the malicious comment, “No wonder your boyfriend killed himself and the latest is missing!” That text was a step too far and I threatened to call the police, although for the sake of Martin, we did eventually make up

. There was always someone who had an issue with my relationship with Martin. Nico’s just could not cope with the fact that Martin still loved me and him in different ways. It was not long before Nicos was in the kitchen and you could just tell he was looking for a fight. He was opening and closing drawers for no reasons when suddenly he spied a small amount of water that had escaped me whilst cleaning, next to the marble sink. That was it, he hit the roof. “YOU RESPECT THE QUALITY OF NOTHING!” he bellowed behind me as I made my excuses to Martin and decided to spend one night at my home let Nicos calm down. When an apologetic text from Nicos did come through, I told him all was fine. 

Returning the next day at 6:30 I found there were two patients in bed: Nicos had piles and might need to go the hospital, possibly for four days. Nicos had fired four of the helpers the NHS had sent us. Looking after Martin really needed two, but the idea of spending some time with him was a relief to me. In the end Nicos just went to a specialist. Looking after Martin was not the hard part, though it was breaking my heart every day. Dealing with Nico’s, who was devious and underhand, was horrendous. He seemed obsessed with my every move.

 However if you think he sounded bad, nothing could prepare you for his sidekick we will call “The Cousin”. A woman as equally uncomfortable in her own skin as Nicos, Martin had only known her for five years. On the face of it she seemed nice, with an air of the teacher about her. Nicos had decided that she was Martin’s replacement sister, as the relationship with his own sister Pen had become strained over the years due to her dominating girlfriend. Martin ‘just loved her’, Nicos would inform me with some command. Martin, though fond of her, did not see her that way.

 She was a walking nightmare and expert on everything to do with cancer. My first hint that she needed to be stopped was when Martin called me telling she was trying to roll a tennis ball up and down his spine. Luckily, I got there in time to challenge her and that went down like a lead balloon.

 The cousin had a habit of putting her hand up like she was teaching at school. I did not want Martin doing those exercise she was trying to make him do and reiterated that he had spinal cancer so his specialist would need to approve any exercise. If she was teaching or instructing, she was fine. Nicos went away for two weeks and left me with Martin. The Cousin started coming over bringing lots of sugary desserts, all well-meaning but not good for cancer and definitely not to Martin’s taste. It seemed well meaning so Martin would smile and say, “Save for later, yummy!” I would chuck them in the bin as soon as she left.

 The first time she came over was to give me an hour off. Martin asked me to call and cancel her, he would be fine, but I felt it would be rude to do so, and if she did come, it would pacify Nicos and assure him that everything was ok. Politely, I thanked her for coming. “I was coming whether you wanted it or not”, she replied, with the coldness of a witch at midnight. “Nicos and I have a plan for Martin, so don’t you worry yourself”, she went on. People must have wondered why I did not tell her to go F— herself. Instead, I hid the various things she brought to roll on Martin. The last thing Martin needed was her exercises that still needed to be approved by a professional. 

We nearly had words when she waltzed in all sweetness and light with more desserts. With her empathetic face she asked, “Anything I can do to help?” For once I was happy to oblige, asking if she minded making Martin’s bed. Her face fell as what she really had meant was if there was anything she could teach or instruct. Her face perked up as she replied, “I will teach you how to do it.” Of course, I declined. 

There was zero empathy from Nicos when I explained Martin was not as keen on her visits as he thought. But more important please could he supervise her teaching exercises as she had zero experience. Having breast cancer did not make you an expert on all cancers. Nicos hollered, “She is like a sister to him!” Nicos had ostracised most of Martin’s close friends and substituted them with ones he approved of over the years they were together. 

We were told by the nurse visiting Martin that under NO circumstances should he make any financial, work related or personal decisions at this stage. It became incredibly difficult to handle the Cousin and Nicos, as no matter what I suggested, it was wrong. Dr Prakash who had helped Martin with his injections and treated him privately for free was branded an idiot, whereas the cousin, who really needed locking up, was always right whatever she said.

 To this day it is my belief that she helped speed the cancer up. I grieved for Martin deeply. When one considers grief, it is foremost for the person you have lost. You could not begin to comprehend how grief magnifies when also confronted with two such devious, plotting malcontents, whose subsequent aim was to erase me from Martin’s eulogy along with any memories we shared. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

 Apart from a lunch with my dear friend Marieanne, I had been there with Martin for twenty four hours. However I had a doctor’s appointment that I could not miss, but the whole thing would take only four hours tops. Warning signs should have flagged in my brain as the pair seemed unusually enthusiastic about this and confirmed several times that I was still going. Despite the warning given by the professionals, whilst I was out they got the lawyers in and established power of attorney.

 Worse still, in his weakened state, Martin signed standing orders to pay monthly into the joint bank account in the Isle of Man the sum of £10,000 from Princess Salimah Aga Khan’s bank account. When I returned, Nico’s was quick to tell me he had power of attorney and only he had the right to deal with things. But again he allowed me to stay. I only found out about the Princess Salimah standing order when she noticed it. It honestly finished Martin off, he was SO distressed. How could this ever have been allowed? Simple Greed on one person’s part. Salimah was distraught though she did attend the funeral by zoom.

 My beautiful Martin Annand died in St Johns hospice on the 9th of August surrounded by his civil partner Nicos and myself, his lover and friend of forty years. I was wiping his mouth with a moist tiny sponge. He was ice cold, and I knew it was the end. He made a noise then went, Nicos screamed and ran to the door, missing the fact Martin had taken one more breath, and then the beautiful angel left us for good. 

Martin and I had been of the same mind; if we took ill, we would go to Switzerland and end it with dignity. In hindsight it was easier said than done. Whilst Nicos was in Greece, Martin had all the details. He had gone on business to Geneva working with Salimah Aga Khan and had everything planned, it was just down to me to take him. He was having a bad day and was booking flights. Martin’s chemo had been tremendous, although his hair had stayed, and we were full of hope.

 He would shower at night trying to ease the agonising pain, but he refused to take the morphine for fear of being hooked. The doctors said it was all down to the side effects of the radiation treatment. Believing them I begged him just to give it two more weeks, then we would go and Nicos would never need to know. But they were wrong, and the cancer had spread. I would not let a dog suffer the indignity my beautiful Martin went through. My deep regret is not saying yes and flying him down to Switzerland when he wanted to go. There was no time for me to grieve at the bedside

. Nicos was hysterical and threw himself on Martin’s body. It was the opposite of what Martin stood for. It was not long though before Nicos became aware of my obvious grief. “I am his civil partner and have rights!” he shrieked at the nurse. Not for one minute did I challenge that, even though Martin was in fact still legally married to an American and she never divorced him. For five minutes I excused myself and went to the bathroom, locked the door and broke down. 

This was not what Martin would have wanted, so I stood up and went to aid Nicos. He was actually kind to me, thanked me, and he was full of questions. Martin would have wanted me to look after him and, as much as he would let me, I did. It did not take long for him to hit the phone. He asked The Cousin to meet him at the house.

 He called Phillipa, a long-term friend in Cyprus that Martin and I both liked, and was furious that she could not come straight away. He turned to his old friend Tee, who was also in Cyprus. The pair had fallen out for years, but a mutual ailment had brought them back together, and that Tee did not like me was a huge bonus. He was flying over the next day. I offered to stay, but it was refused. Accompanying Nicos back home, I came up to make some tea. 

It was not long before the cousin arrived, she was of course kind. To my horror they jumped into funeral arrangements. Worse still, “Has anyone told Danielle. Martin was very fond of her?” was the next question. They both knew that I had fallen out with Danielle as she had taken great advantage of Martin. He had paid for her partner to be flown from Cyprus as a medical emergency. He had set up a bank account up for her and had been paying the price. I saw her as a user although Martin said “She’s great at parties”. If I was throwing a party, number one on the guest list would certainly not have been Danielle. I realised that I was on a hiding to nothing and left the pair to it.

 Though I had helped Nicos as much as I could, The Cousin quickly jumped in and took over; my little eulogy was judged too much about me by the pair and not used. The actual funeral had to be seen to be believed and if Martin had not been cremated he would have rolled in his grave. In fairness I was in the funeral procession car. Arriving at their home, Nicos was not there. 

I was outside as the coffin pulled up and Nicos jumped from the car wearing ripped jeans, flanked by Tee and another friend, who both seemed to be dressed like crows. He fell onto the ground of the apartment steps, wailing, “My Martin is here!” calling up to Phillipa. Ironically it looked like a scene from Tosca, a favourite opera of Martin and I. Nicos saw me then and I thought he was coming to hug me, but instead all the drama was over. “You get in the second car”. It was a shape of things to come for the day. I was only allowed a few people as mourners. Nicos did not realise that Martin still had had a life with me and he saw people like Denise Welch and others when Nicos was not around. Still, I was not going to argue and held my head with dignity. Just as I was about to enter the crematorium at Golders Green on a beautiful sunny day, Nico’s whispered to me, “I am afraid I have been a bit selfish with the eulogy.”

 Looking back at him, I replied I would not expect anything else. Nicos outdid himself with the downright pack of lies contained in the eulogy. Yes, there were moments of truth but it was hard for me to comprehend what was being read out. If there was any doubt that this was not a bad dream, the beautiful friends I shared with Martin, who were there to support me, gasped in places. Darling Marieanne, a long-term friend of Martin’s and my best pal at the time, squeezed my arm each time something was read out that made Nicos sound a hero and omitted my name completely. We were instructed not to look at Nicos as we left, but he should not have worried as there was absolutely no danger of that. 

Walking through the crematorium doors into the beautiful memorial gardens, my numbness started to thaw out as one of my oldest friends exclaimed, “What the fuck was that?” Nicos had had the nerve to ring my kid sister in the US and ask her to watch. It was not long before she was on the phone to find out if I was ok. “Why did he say those things?!” She knew how humiliated I must have felt and said how restrained I had been. If she had been there in person with a baseball bat…

 Do not think the thought had not passed my mind. However, holding my head high was what Martin would have wanted, not some ugly drama. His eulogy was heard by 42 people. A week later I released mine on the net and it has been seen by over 4000,000 people. Many of Martin’s family and friends asked why it had not been used. It is below. My hope is to hold a proper ceremony on the anniversary of Martin’s death. 

The wonder that was Martin Annand A beautiful light has left the world. But I just know he is sparkling above us full of love. Martin Annand passed away at St John’s hospice London at 12.15 on the 9th of August 2021, with Mozart piano concerto 15 playing, and his civil partner Nicos Steratzias and his former partner Steven Smith lovingly by his side. https://www.stjohnshospice.org.uk/about/ 

Christopher Robin said to Winne the Pooh: “You’re braver than you believe, stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think.” Martin Annand was the quintessential Christopher Robin and he loved his eclectic friends, no matter their flaws, and he embraced their strengths. He would often joke, “I think he is having an Eeyore moment”, if a friend was down or not seeing the positive about something. He would reference more of Christopher’s pals, saying, “You’re very Tigger-y today”, if one of us was particularly bouncy, and even though Martin enjoyed a healthy lifestyle, he also empathised with Pooh, adoring a sneaky sweet or two. Martin was a true English gentleman, whose style and grace made him so wonderfully unique

. People just adored him as he made every person feel important, taking an interest in everyone he met. From classic cars to a hand of bridge, the latest song by the Pet Shop Boys, or even a glance at what Robbie Williams was wearing; Martin could talk about it all. He just loved everything in life. I would often laugh to myself when people thought Martin was “serious” and “a little unapproachable”

Martin with Ian Phillips Samantha Phillips and Emma Noble and me

. He was one of the funniest people I have ever met, bringing the phrase “Don’t judge the book by its cover” to mind. Martin’s inner child beamed out to those who knew him and took the time to see the beautiful man for who he really was. When I first met him, he told me a story that could only happen to Martin. He said, “I went to a dinner party last night. When I got there, the house was awfully dark. When I pressed the doorbell, the hostess answered in her night attire. “Oh, has the dinner been cancelled?” I enquired. “It was last week”, the hostess answered, wide mouthed. “And what is more, you came to it!”

 Martin had the ability to laugh at himself. He was funny, sometimes forgetful and, what is a rare quality these days, loyal. Whenever you saw him, he opened his wide blue eyes and smiled, and he made you believe you could do whatever you wanted to do. He was fortunate enough to have danced with Princess Margaret, but always said he enjoyed dancing at his friend Denise Welch’s ball, with a group of bright young things, more than with Her Royal Highness. Martin just loved the dance of life and he threw himself into everything – whether it was captaining a boat or dancing the Conga in Rio de Janeiro.

 Or partying in St. Tropez for his friend Pam Sharrock’s 60th. I recall him skiing down a black run in Klosters Ski Resort with such ease, leaving the soon-to-be-famous Denise Welch and myself way behind. Of course, Martin being Martin, he was straight back up the slope to come to the aid of his friends. There is so much to write on The Exceptional Mr Annand that it could fill two volumes. If there is a Heaven, he will be up there playing bridge and chatting to his friends who journeyed there before him. If he is looking down, all he would want for us is love, success and happiness, as Martin embodied in everything he did in life. But please continue reading as this is a story of one of the most glamorous, quintessential gentlemen, whose story will make you laugh, gasp and cry. He was the accountant for some of the world’s wealthiest and most famous people despite never training as an accountant. The man that could make you feel like you could fly…

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SABRAGE at Lafayette: Champagne, Circus, and Controlled Chaos

Finding the perfect birthday experience for someone special is no small task—especially when expectations are high and the guest of honour is flying in from Lisbon with friends in tow. A month before the big day, my phone rang.

“Steven,” my best friend said, “I really want to do something fun for Hernando’s birthday. Something exciting. A show. There’ll be ten of us. What do you suggest?”

I’d been hearing whispers—more like delighted murmurs—circulating through my social circle about a production with just the right amount of cheeky X-factor. A show called SABRAGE. The reviews were glowing, bordering on evangelical, and once I looked further, the decision was made.

Described as an intoxicating collision of circus artistry, vintage glamour, high-octane acrobatics, and mischievous humour, SABRAGE promised far more than a conventional night out. It billed itself not merely as a show, but as an experience. And it 

delivers—spectacularly.

On Saturday evening, we headed to King’s Cross, an area that has undergone one of London’s most impressive transformations over the past decade. Once gritty and utilitarian, it’s now a cultural and social hub buzzing with confidence. Lafayette, located just four minutes’ walk from the station, sits discreetly behind the main thoroughfare—an architectural gem that immediately sets the tone.

From the moment you arrive, the welcome is warm and efficient. Even security manages to be charming—no small feat. Before entering the theatre space, there are a few house rules. Chief among them: no photographs of nudity. This might raise an eyebrow or two, but rest assured—nothing here is gratuitous. Everything is artfully staged, elegant, playful, and firmly in good taste. If you’re easily offended, this may not be your night—but if you appreciate sensuality delivered with wit and intelligence, you’re in safe hands.

One of SABRAGE’s most impressive feats—aside from the performers themselves—is the seamless audience experience. Drinks and food can be ordered directly from your seat via a simple scan, and every member of staff we encountered was genuinely helpful, friendly, and clearly proud of the production.

The show opens with a theatrical pop—a sword cleanly slicing the cork from a champagne bottle—setting the mood instantly. Our hosts glide onstage, equal parts ringmaster and rogue, and from that moment, the audience is completely seduced.

Then comes the talent.

Almost immediately, the room developed a collective crush on Flynn Miller, whose high-flying aerial act is nothing short of breathtaking. There is a rare beauty in watching someone so utterly in command of their body, defying gravity with elegance, strength, and apparent effortlessness. His performance alone would be worth the ticket price.

But SABRAGE is far more than a one-man triumph. The cast—drawn from the very best international circus and acrobatic talent—deliver a relentless parade of jaw-dropping moments. There is danger, precision, laughter, and an undercurrent of delicious rebellion throughout. Vintage glamour collides with modern irreverence, and the result is electric.

What makes SABRAGE truly special is its balance. It knows exactly how far to push without tipping into excess. The humour is cheeky rather than crude. The sensuality is teasing, never tawdry. The spectacle is bold but controlled. Every act feels curated, every transition intentional.

By the end of the evening, our table of ten—birthday boy included—was unanimous. This wasn’t just a successful celebration; it was a night none of us will forget. SABRAGE doesn’t simply entertain—it exhilarates.

If you’re looking for something genuinely different in London, whether for a birthday, celebration, or simply because life deserves more champagne-fuelled circus brilliance, SABRAGE at Lafayette should be at the very top of your list.

Rating: ★★★★★
A dazzling, decadent triumph. 🥂🎪

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Anna Kennedy OBE and I venture out to do something different

The brilliant Felix Riley https://www.brilliant-thinking.com

Well, I have just witnessed a man stand up and speak who could best be described as the prodigious love child of Keith Richards and Ricky Gervais—conceived, perhaps, through the mischievous spirit of Janet Street-Porter. Hilarious. Sharp. Fearless. Unapologetically himself.

And yet, despite appearances, I was not tucked away in a comedy club. Instead, Anna Kennedy OBE and I had ventured somewhere altogether different, joining  Pier Space Speakers Corner London for one of their celebrated lunches, held at the funky  Balfour St Barts.

https://www.thepeerspace.com/speakers

It was, quite simply, brilliant.

What struck me immediately was the atmosphere: a room buzzing with ideas, warmth, and possibility. This was not a classroom, nor a rigid corporate seminar. It was a gathering of diverse voices—entrepreneurs, creatives, leaders, advocates—coming together to share experiences across business, inspiration, leadership, and life itself. A place where stories mattered as much as strategies.

I am no stranger to speaking. I love radio and television, thrive in podcasts, relish a debate, and happily interview just about anyone. Give me a microphone and a subject and I’m entirely at home. But there is a lesser-known truth about me: when it comes to standing up and talking about myself, I freeze. I brick it, as we say. Confidence deserts me. Words scatter.

Yes, a couple of glasses of vino may occasionally loosen the tongue and—miraculously—result in a standing ovation. But that’s hardly a reliable strategy.

So when Anna suggested we both attend Speakers Corner London—not as performers, but as participants, learners, listeners—I jumped at the chance. And I am so glad I did.

Out and about with Anna Kennedy obe

This was the perfect antidote to fear: an environment that was supportive rather than judgemental, energising rather than intimidating. Not a “class” in the traditional sense, but something far more powerful—an inspirational space where you learn almost by osmosis, simply by being in the room with talented, generous people who genuinely want others to succeed.

Anna, of course, took to it like the Energiser Bunny discovering a microphone. Confident, articulate, and deeply authentic, she reminded everyone why her work in autism awareness and advocacy has made such a lasting impact. Watching her speak so naturally, so purposefully, was inspiring in itself.

The lunch marked a pretty epic kick-off to the 2026 events season, and it felt fantastic to be back among such a stellar group of speakers. The line-up read like a roll-call of insight and expertise: Paul Thomas, the “Sound of Success” specialist; Graham Norris, a future confidence guru; Phil Street FIH, hospitality podcaster extraordinaire; Gill Tiney, global collaboration champion and super-connector; Maria Pardo, marketing guru and Toastmasters president; Nic Marks, happiness author and statistician; Hulya Erbeyli PCC, an authentic leadership coach; Paul Cook, expert in change and transformation; and Trevor Folley, whose work on building cultures of trust resonated deeply.

A special mention must go to Yvette Jeal PCC, who opened the speaker spotlight slots for the year with a calm, confident and fascinating immersion into the neuroscience of peak performance. It was one of those talks that leaves you thinking differently—not just about leadership, but about how we show up every day. Felix Riley followed with a high-energy, often amusing and extremely useful set of ten tips for speakers, distilled from years of hard-won experience.

https://yvettejeal.co.uk

And then there was Zoie Golding MBE, sharing news of the Big Movement and its inspiring mission to get more men dancing for mental health—proof, if ever it were needed, that leadership comes in many forms, and impact is not confined to boardrooms.

By the end of the afternoon, I realised something important: this wasn’t just about learning how to speak better. It was about confidence, connection, and community. About giving people permission to find their voice—whatever that voice sounds like—and to use it with purpose.

So yes, Anna Kennedy OBE and I did venture out to do something different. And in doing so, I found myself quietly braver, unexpectedly inspired, and already looking forward to the next Speakers Corner London gathering in May.

Sometimes, the most powerful thing you can do is simply show up, sit among the experts, and allow yourself to learn.

https://www.thepeerspace.com/speakers

https://www.thepeerspace.com/speakers

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Samantha Lee Howe ‘s Seven Favourite things.

Picture by Annemarie Bickerton https://www.annemariebickerton.co.uk

Steven Smith chats to Samantha.  

Samantha Lee Howe is an award-winning author, screenwriter, and broadcaster, known for her ability to craft gripping, emotionally rich narratives. Her latest release, A Thorn in the Rose, launches the Mel Greenway Investigates series, set in post-World War II Britain. The novel follows Lady Melinda “Mel” Greenway, a former army mechanic, who uncovers a body buried beneath the rose garden of the crumbling Avonby Estate. As Mel digs into the mystery, she faces a dangerous web of family secrets, class divisions, and unresolved romance, all while navigating the tensions between the estate’s wealthy residents and its resentful staff. Blending suspense with social history, Howe’s storytelling draws readers into a compelling world of intrigue and mystery.

Picture Annemarie Bickerton all make up Ayesha Baig

In celebration of her new book, Samantha shares her seven favourite things — offering a personal look into the inspirations and interests that fuel her creativity. From her fascination with forgotten histories to the quiet moments of reflection that help her develop unforgettable characters, Samantha’s list reveals the influences behind her writing and the passions that drive her. Whether it’s her love of storytelling, her advocacy work, or her dedication to unearthing hidden truths, Samantha’s journey as an author continues to resonate with readers worldwide. A Thorn in the Rose is just the beginning of an exciting new chapter in her career.

I have so many favourite things that this was a tough one. But in no particular order, here is my seven favourite things.

Ballgowns

Yes, I adore a fancy frock — particularly when there’s a suitably glamorous excuse to wear one. There is something wonderfully transformative about a ballgown: the weight of the fabric, the sweep of the skirt, the quiet confidence it lends the wearer.

My favourite gown was designed by the formidable businesswoman Heather Hardy, who owns the highly successful prom, wedding, and occasionwear shop Glitz and Glamour Boutique, where I regularly indulge my love of elegant dressing. Some time ago, Heather turned her considerable talent to creating her own VIP range — a venture that met with well-deserved success.

Most wonderfully of all, she designed a dress with my favourite style firmly in mind and even named it after me. It remains a deeply flattering honour — proof that sometimes a love of beautiful clothes can be rewarded with something truly personal and unforgettable.

https://www.facebook.com/GlitzGlamourboutiqueSleaford/

Wine

My favourite wine is red, and I’m particularly partial to a good Malbec. Rich, smooth, and reassuringly full-bodied, it’s a wine I return to time and again. As a result, my go-to choice — reliable, consistent, and eminently quaffable — is Casillero del Diablo Malbec. It never disappoints, whether opened for a quiet evening at home or shared with friends.

They also produce a very fine Carménère, which I enjoy just as much — a slightly bolder companion with depth and character, perfect for lingering conversations and unhurried dinners.

Cheese.

Self-indulgent, I know — but wine and cheese truly do belong together. I have a particular fondness for baked Camembert, especially since I first shared one with my husband, David, on our very first date. It was a long time ago now, yet it has never been forgotten. Even today, a Camembert still feels like a small celebration in itself, and I love to bring one out for us on special occasions, as a quiet reminder of where our story began.

Cats

My beautiful furbaby, Skye, is my constant companion when I’m writing. Even now, she’s curled up against my leg as I type, quietly supervising proceedings in the way only a cat can.

What I love most about cats, in general, is their individuality. No two are ever quite the same; each has a personality entirely its own. Skye possesses the softest, sweetest nature, endlessly affectionate and reassuring — yet she also has a mischievous streak that appears whenever things fail to go her way.

Case in point: eating the fake snow off the Christmas tree, an act guaranteed to provoke a reaction from us and, I suspect, part of the appeal. It’s this blend of gentleness and gentle rebellion that makes her such a joy — and such an essential presence in my everyday life.

Skye the cat .

Birthday cake

I adore birthday cake, and the very best part is always the fondant icing. There’s something indulgent and irresistible about it — smooth, sweet, and unapologetically decadent. Still, I’m rather glad it only makes an appearance twice a year in our household, because it’s exactly the sort of pleasure one could develop a dangerous fondness for. Given half the chance, I suspect I could become thoroughly addicted

My Laptop

I honestly couldn’t live without my laptop. It’s an essential part of my daily life, serving as my main tool for work, communication, and social media. It’s where emails are written, ideas are shaped, and conversations are kept alive.

I don’t play computer games, but I do enjoy using it creatively — designing posters and banners, experimenting with layouts, and bringing ideas to life on the screen. Of course, it also has its less industrious moments. Every now and then, it becomes the perfect instrument for procrastination, doubling as a portal to streaming series when I really should be doing something else.

Practical, creative, and occasionally indulgent, my laptop has become far more than just a piece of technology — it’s a constant companion in both my working and wandering hours.

My Kitchen

As I love to cook, my kitchen is my favourite room in the house. It is also the hub of every party we have, and I’m always amazed by how everyone congregates in there each time. I take great pride in it too, and it always has to have clear and clean surfaces, ready, as I’m always saying, to cook the next meal.

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Steven’s Viewz

Is it ever okay not to invite a family member to a major life event?
Is it ever acceptable to distance yourself — or even cut ties completely?

Picture Graham Martin https://www.menart.co.uk/book-now

Steven’s Viewz

Welcome to Steven’s Viewz — the first of 2026. And let’s start the year with an uncomfortable truth.

Adam and Holly

Is it ever okay not to invite a family member to a major life event?
Is it ever acceptable to distance yourself — or even cut ties completely?

The short answer is this: yes, sometimes it is not only acceptable, it is necessary.

The question has been dragged into the spotlight following the wedding of the year, as Adam Peaty married Holly Ramsay and chose not to invite his mother. Predictably, the outrage machine kicked into gear. Headlines screamed. Opinions flooded in. Armchair judges — armed with no facts and limitless certainty — rushed to condemn.

Here’s what struck me most: how quick people are to defend family in theory, and how unwilling they are to accept the damage family can cause in reality.

Not all families are The Waltons.
Some families are battlegrounds dressed up as photo albums.

Behind the smiling Christmas cards and Facebook posts lie power struggles, control, emotional manipulation, and silence that screams louder than words. And when someone finally says “enough,” the world often turns on them — not the behaviour that pushed them there.

I know this terrain well.

I grew up in a family where people disappeared without explanation. At nine years old, I came home to find myself locked out. Eventually, the letterbox opened and my mother asked, “Are you on your own?” A row between her and her mother — my grandmother — had ended the relationship entirely. One moment she was part of our lives; the next, she was erased.

Visiting my grandparents had once been a joy. Then it became forbidden. When I later wrote to my gran, there were consequences. At fourteen, I was sent alone to Glasgow — not to reconnect, but to persuade my grandparents not to take my father’s side in court. That was the last time I ever saw them.

That isn’t family warmth.
That’s family politics.

So when people scoff and say, “But she’s his mother,” I don’t hear wisdom — I hear denial.

Adam and muu Caroline .

Because sometimes family isn’t a source of love. Sometimes it’s a source of fear, obligation, and emotional exhaustion. And no wedding day — no milestone — should be overshadowed by anxiety about who might erupt, undermine, or hijack the moment.

Much as you try to make it work, some people are only content when they are in control. When they aren’t centre stage, they create drama to pull the spotlight back. And when confronted, they cast themselves as the victim — never acknowledging the trail of damage behind them.

Let’s be honest: if a friend behaved that way — belittling you, calling you names, sabotaging your happiness — would you keep them in your life? Of course you wouldn’t. Yet when it’s family, we’re told to endure it. Smile through it. Absorb it.

Why?

Mental health does not become optional because someone shares your DNA.

Often, when people move into new social circles or build lives different from the ones they were raised in, it triggers insecurity in those left behind. Even when efforts are made to include them, their anxiety spills out as disruptive behaviour. Weddings, birthdays, celebrations — all become stages for unresolved resentment.

If Adam’s mother were truly the injured party, dignity would have been her strongest ally. Silence, reflection, restraint — not public outrage. Those who are genuinely wronged rarely need to shout the loudest.

Adam didn’t just make a decision about a wedding invitation. He changed his surname. That is not impulsive. That is not petty. That is the culmination of years of internal conflict, careful thought, and emotional cost.

And I applaud him for doing it early — before resentment calcifies, before damage multiplies, before patterns repeat. Family member may love you but it does not allow them to hurt you and be in denial.

No family member should ever make you feel small, fearful, or unworthy. Family should be the safest place — not the one you brace yourself for.

Sometimes the bravest, healthiest choice is to step away. Not out of bitterness, but out of self-respect. Not to punish, but to protect.

And if that makes people uncomfortable, perhaps it’s because it forces them to confront a truth they’d rather ignore:

Family doesn’t get a free pass to hurt you.

Why Amandaland Was the Christmas Treat We Didn’t Know We Needed

There is a particular kind of Christmas television that feels like slipping into a familiar jumper: slightly stretched, deeply comforting, and faintly ridiculous. The Amandaland Christmas special is exactly that kind of viewing — and all the better for it.

Christmas Day television is a battlefield. Big budgets, earnest dramas, and aggressively “heartwarming” narratives often jostle for attention, all while families argue over the remote and someone burns the sprouts. Amandaland cuts through the noise by doing something radical: it knows precisely what it is. A sharp, character-driven comedy about social aspiration, emotional repression, and the very British terror of appearing ordinary — now wrapped in tinsel.

The episode’s premise is delightfully simple. Amanda, our tightly wound heroine, decides to recreate a “perfect” childhood Christmas at her aunt’s country home. Naturally, this requires absolute aesthetic control, emotional denial, and an unwavering belief that nothing — not weather, children, or other people — should interfere with her vision. What follows is a festive slow-motion collapse, played with exquisite comic timing.

Enter Jennifer Saunders, who turns up as Aunt Joan like a glitter cannon fired directly into the episode. Saunders doesn’t merely steal scenes — she annexes them. Her performance is gloriously unfiltered, full of physical comedy, throwaway lines, and the sense that she is enjoying herself enormously. This is not nostalgia casting; this is a master at work, reminding us how joyful comedy can be when it’s driven by confidence rather than caution.

Then there’s Joanna Lumley, a woman who could make a shopping list sound withering. As Amanda’s emotionally glacial mother, Lumley delivers her lines with that unmistakable mix of elegance and quiet disdain. Every raised eyebrow lands like a punchline. She doesn’t chase laughs — she allows them to come to her, which somehow makes them sharper. Watching Lumley and Saunders share the screen again is less a reunion and more a reminder: this is what happens when comic icons are trusted to do what they do best.

What makes Amandaland such perfect Christmas viewing is its refusal to be falsely sentimental. Yes, there’s warmth here — but it’s earned, not imposed. The show understands that Christmas isn’t magical because it’s perfect; it’s memorable because it rarely is. The forced cheer, the unresolved family tensions, the desperate attempts to manufacture tradition — all of it rings painfully, hilariously true.

In an era where television often feels either too bleak or too bland, Amandaland occupies a sweet spot we desperately need more of. It’s clever without being smug, affectionate without being soft, and funny without shouting for attention. Most importantly, it trusts its audience — and its performers — to appreciate humour rooted in character rather than spectacle.

By the time the credits roll, you feel lighter. Not because everything’s been neatly resolved, but because you’ve laughed at the chaos instead of pretending it doesn’t exist. And really, isn’t that the whole point of Christmas television?

More of this, please. Preferably every year. https://www.bbc.co.uk/iplayer/episode/m002p137/amandaland-christmas-special

Wishing you an amazing 2026 please support 2shades by sharing and subscribing .

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A NEW YEAR MESSAGE FROM DR ANNA KENNEDY OBE.

Dr Anna Kennedy OBE  New Year Speech . 

By Steven Smith.

By Sue Crawford https://annakennedyonline.com

As we step into 2026, I want to begin by thanking every single reader of 2Shades for your continued support, compassion, and commitment to inclusion. Each year brings its own challenges, but it also brings fresh opportunities to listen, to learn, and to act — and it is that collective spirit which continues to drive the work my husband Sean and I are so proud to be part of, with the help of an incredible team of unpaid volunteers at Anna Kennedy Online.

One of the highlights already firmly marked in my diary is the Autism Hero Awards, taking place on 9 May. These awards are incredibly close to my heart. They exist to celebrate the unsung heroes within the autism community — parents, carers, professionals, advocates, and autistic individuals themselves — whose dedication so often goes unnoticed. The Autism Hero Awards are not about red carpets or grand gestures; they are about recognition, visibility, and gratitude. They remind us that change is driven by people who show up every day, quietly and consistently, to make life better for others.

Creativity and self-expression will also take centre stage this year with the Autism and Art Show, opening in July at the FirePit Gallery. Art has always been a powerful vehicle for communication, particularly for autistic individuals who may find traditional forms of expression limiting. This exhibition is not only a celebration of artistic talent, but a statement: autistic voices deserve to be seen, valued, and taken seriously in cultural spaces. The Autism and Art Show continues to challenge outdated perceptions and offers audiences the chance to engage with autism through creativity rather than cliché.

Anna and her team of trusted volunteers https://annakennedyonline.com

February also brings an exciting and meaningful moment with the book launch by Samantha Lee Howe, taking place on 28 February, in aid of Anna Kennedy Online. Samantha’s work is deeply personal and profoundly resonant, and this launch is a wonderful example of how storytelling can build empathy while directly supporting autism advocacy. Events like this remind us that awareness and action must always go hand in hand. Samantha is also a judge at the Autism Hero Awards, which we are delighted about.

This year also marks the 15th anniversary of Autism’s Got Talent, a milestone that fills me with immense pride. Over the past fifteen years, Autism’s Got Talent has provided a platform for autistic people to shine on their own terms — celebrating ability, ambition, and individuality. It has been a joy to witness so many participants grow in confidence and self-belief, and to see audiences rethink what talent truly means.

Anna with the owner of the Firepit gallery who host Autism & Art Marcus Jake and the legendery artist that is John Lee Bird. https://www.firepit.art/. http://johnleebird.com

Beyond events and milestones, ongoing conversation remains vital.

I am delighted to continue co-hosting  my radio show on Gateway Radio, alongside Aston Avery. The programme gives us space to discuss disability, inclusion, mental health, and real-world challenges honestly and accessibly. Radio remains a powerful medium for reaching people who may feel isolated, unheard, or overlooked — and those conversations matter more than ever.

https://annakennedyonline.com

However, alongside hope and celebration, there are serious concerns that cannot be ignored. One of the most pressing is the future facing younger autistic people as they grow into adulthood — particularly what happens when parents or primary carers are no longer there. Too many families live with quiet fear about long-term support, independence, housing, and care. Systems are often fragmented, under-resourced, and slow to respond. As a society, we must do better at planning for lifelong autism support, not short-term solutions.

Sean and I remain committed to fighting for diversity, inclusion, and practical change. Advocacy does not end with awareness campaigns; it continues in policy discussions, education, employment, healthcare, and community support. We will continue to challenge inequality wherever we see it and to stand alongside those who feel marginalised or forgotten.

As we move forward into this new year, my hope is simple: that compassion leads action, that listening leads understanding, and that inclusion becomes the norm rather than the exception. Thank you for being part of this journey. Together, we can — and will — continue to make a difference.

With warmest wishes for a hopeful, inclusive, and empowering year ahead.

END 
https://annakennedyonline.com

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Anna and Steven joined Wendy and Anthea Turner at the festive launch of their latest book, A Covent Garden Christmas.

It was a celebrity-packed afternoon on London’s iconic King’s Road as guests gathered for the launch of A Covent Garden Christmas, the latest festive children’s book from the ever-popular duo Wendy Turner and Anthea Turner. The event took place at the chic White Coco store, which proved the perfect setting for an afternoon brimming with seasonal cheer, literary sparkle, and familiar faces.

From the moment the doors opened, there was a palpable buzz as fans clambered for signed copies, eager to exchange a few words with the authors and soak up the festive atmosphere. The King’s Road, already alive with Christmas energy, felt even more special as the boutique filled with laughter, conversation, and the unmistakable excitement that only a book launch can bring.

Anna and Wendy

Among those lending their support were 2Shades columnists Dr Anna Kennedy OBE and Steven Smith, both warmly welcomed as they joined the celebrations. Their presence added to the sense that this was not just a publishing event, but a gathering of friends, creatives, and supporters coming together to celebrate storytelling and imagination.

A Covent Garden Christmas is the latest instalment in the much-loved Underneath the Underground series and marks the fourth adventure to delight young readers. This time, the story unfolds with deliciously eccentric flair: a bald Christmas tree, a missing butler, and a runaway red bus ensure that the festive season begins in anything but ordinary fashion. When King Charles and Queen Camilla find their royal Christmas plans descending into chaos, the pair are forced to improvise decorations, shop in disguise, and navigate a series of comic mishaps that will keep children giggling from page to page.

Steven Joins in the festive fun ,

Running parallel to this royal mayhem is a tender and imaginative story set beneath the streets of London. Snowball, a lonely white mouse, escapes his neglectful owner and stumbles into a secret underground world where theatre mice rehearse a magical pantomime at the spectacular London Palladium. It is here that friendship, creativity, and courage come to the fore. When Snowball is suddenly snatched away and the Underground’s handmade Christmas presents mysteriously disappear, it falls to the daring Special Mouse Services to save the day. With teamwork, bravery, and a sprinkling of festive magic, Christmas Day itself hangs in the balance.

Friends join Wendy and Anthea to celebrate their book launch ,

Brimming with humour, heart, and festive adventure, the book introduces a host of delightful new mousy characters while welcoming back many familiar favourites who have already captured the imagination of children everywhere. It is a story that celebrates kindness, resilience, and the joy of working together—timeless messages wrapped up in a thoroughly modern and mischievous Christmas tale.

The guest list reflected the book’s broad appeal. Among the celebrities in attendance were Loose Women panellist Jane Moore, renowned hairdresser Nicky Clarke, and Minder star and acting royalty Gary Webster. Each took time to congratulate Wendy and Anthea, praising the warmth and imagination that have become hallmarks of their writing.

Lisa Allen from the Pink Ribbon charity joins the fund with Anthea and Wendy .

No festive launch would be complete without seasonal treats, and guests were duly indulged with glasses of bubbly and delicious vegan mince pies—an inclusive touch that reflected the thoughtful spirit behind the book itself. Conversations flowed easily as attendees browsed the boutique, thumbed through freshly signed copies, and posed for photographs amid tasteful Christmas décor.

As the afternoon drew to a close, it was clear that A Covent Garden Christmas is set to become a firm festive favourite. With its blend of gentle satire, heartfelt storytelling, and London-centric magic, the book captures the very essence of Christmas—proving that whether you are royal, mouse, or somewhere in between, friendship and imagination can make the season truly unforgettable.

For more information, visit White Coco and Splendid Publications. https://www.splendidpublications.co.uk/blog/sisters-anthea-and-wendy-turner-on-the-same-page-once-more-as-they-enjoy-a-hello-magazine-photoshoot-and-discuss-their-new-book-the-kings-coronation-and-the-kohinoor-diamond

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Carry On, Barbara Windsor

My tribute to the legend Dame Barbara Windsor (1931–2020)This article was first published in the year of Barbara’s passing. I felt it was important that it did not fade away, not only as a tribute to Barbara’s extraordinary talent and character, but also in recognition of Scott Mitchell , who has since gone on to do remarkable things.

By Steven Smith

Who did not love Barbara Windsor — the second Queen of the UK and true British acting royalty? I genuinely do not know a single person who, on Thursday 10th December, did not shed a tear at the (though expected) loss of the world’s most bubbly blonde. We will never forget that infectious, suggestive laugh, nor the extraordinary talent of that iconic Cockney bird.

Dame Barbara Windsor was best known for her roles in EastEnders and the Carry On films. Her acting saw her BAFTA-nominated for her role in Sparrows Can’t Sing and Tony-nominated for her Broadway performance in Oh! What a Lovely War.

Barbara became a Dame not just for her work in entertainment, but also for her incredible dedication to charity. Her support spanned a diverse range of causes, including Age Concern, Age UK, the Amy Winehouse Foundation, Great Ormond Street Hospital — the list truly is endless.

I can’t hand on heart say that Barbara was a close friend of mine — the word friend is used so liberally these days. But over the years, I encountered her many times and was fortunate enough to spend quality time with her. You never forgot a chat with Barbara, because in a world of showbiz magic, she was refreshingly real and wonderfully to the point.

My first outing on the London showbiz scene was with journalist Lester Middlehurst. It was a little nerve-wracking for me, and among the celebrities present was Barbara Windsor, who knew Lester well. My dad was a huge fan of the Carry On films, as was I, and I felt star-struck and slightly out of my depth. Before I knew it, there were around five flamboyant men all vying for Barbara’s attention.

Standing beside me was a very handsome dark-haired fellow named Scott. It was a relief chatting to him — he was down-to-earth, funny, and instantly put me at ease. Not long after, Barbara came over to us. Of course, Scott was her fella, and together they were simply lovely — a genuinely warm and affectionate couple.

Being keen on theatre, I asked Barbara what it was like working at the Royal Court with Joan Littlewood. She looked at me quizzically and said, “What did you ask me, darling?” I repeated the question just as her posse of admirers returned.

At June Browns book launch with Scott and Barbra

“Sshhshh,” she said. “I’m talking to Steven.” She took Scott and me aside and laughed, “That’s not the usual question I get asked.” We had a wonderful chat, and Lester later commented, “Barbara seemed to like you.” She had that rare quality of making people feel special — she genuinely made others feel good.

Over the next few years, I chatted more with Scott — he shared my sense of humour. My next meeting with Barbara was at my dear friend, Irish singer Rose-Marie’s 50th birthday, held in a pub on the Edgware Road. Barbara made a beeline for me.

“You’re always chatting to my Scott,” she said. “You know, darling, some people who ought to know better aren’t always nice to him.”

We spent ages talking about relationships. At the time, my partner was 28 years older than me, and we discussed people’s reactions to age gaps.

I asked her, “Are you looking forward to becoming a Dame?”

“Never — not with my history with Ronnie and the boys,” she laughed.

But right it was — and a Dame she most deservedly became.

There was also a wonderfully camp trip to Marbella with some of the Coronation Street cast, including the fabulous Denise Welch. EastEnders were filming there, and Barbara, Scott, and Rula Lenska joined us for dinner. What a wild night that was.

The last time I saw Barbara and Scott was at June Brown’s book launch, Before the Year Dot. Executives were desperately trying to lure Barbara back into EastEnders — even that night they were pitching it to her. But she wasn’t budging.

“I’ve had enough,” she told me and Rose-Marie.

Something struck me when news of her death broke. So many people began by commenting on her height. Perhaps because I’m not a size-queen, it never once crossed my mind. Barbara was huge in stature — she filled every room with personality and talent. She certainly did not suffer fools gladly. She was, without doubt, a giant of the industry.

Barbara was a true professional. She always had a smile on her face at every event. As her on-screen daughter Daniella Westbrook recently said, Barbara believed you owed it to the public to always put on your happy face: “If you’re not at your best, don’t go out.” Daniella added that once Barbara got home, she liked nothing more than putting the kettle on, taking her shoes off, sitting on the sofa — and simply being Babs.

Babs — who we all miss dearly.

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Rocco Ritchie is an artist to be reckoned with.

It would be easy to rush to call Rocco Ritchie a “nepo baby” and dismiss his artistic success as being down to his famous parents. Of course, any help in an industry riddled with nepotism and driven by who you know can be an advantage. However, I am the first to say that Rocco is a huge talent with an original voice — if there is such a thing — and that originality is precisely why he is taking the art world by storm.

Rocco Ritchie is gaining recognition not because of who his parents are, but because of who he is becoming. In an industry often suspicious of famous surnames, he has quietly and confidently carved out a space that feels earned rather than inherited. Far from the caricature of a “nepo baby,” he has demonstrated discipline, originality, and a genuine commitment to craft that has surprised critics and collectors alike.

The label of nepotism is an easy one to reach for. As the son of global icon Madonna and filmmaker Guy Ritchie, Rocco grew up surrounded by creativity, privilege, and cultural capital. Yet what is striking about his artistic rise is how deliberately he stepped away from the spotlight that might have guaranteed instant attention. For years, he worked under a pseudonym, allowing his art to speak before his name did. That decision alone signals intent: Ritchie wanted critique, not cushioning.

His work does not rely on imitation or celebrity gimmickry. While many emerging artists fall into the trap of echoing fashionable trends or overtly referencing their influences, Ritchie resists this. Too often, artists with minimal talent but strong PR and marketing skills are sold to naïve buyers on the strength of a story rather than substance. The work may look good on a wall, but when it comes time to resell, the narrative unravels. Ritchie’s art does not rely on hype; it stands on its

own.

His work feels personal and idiosyncratic, and my hunch is that it will one day sell at serious auction houses. His paintings often explore mood, texture, and form with a restraint that belies his youth. There is confidence in his mark-making and composition, but also vulnerability — an understanding that art is as much about questioning as it is about declaring.

What sets Ritchie apart is that his work resists easy categorisation. There are echoes of classic portraiture, abstract expressionism, and urban grit, yet these elements are filtered through a distinctly contemporary lens. His use of layered surfaces and muted palettes gives the impression of images emerging from memory rather than being presented as finished statements. This refusal to over-explain is refreshing in an age of overexposure.

Equally compelling is Ritchie’s personal evolution. Over recent years, he has grown into a strikingly handsome and self-assured man, yet without the performative bravado often associated with celebrity offspring. There is a quietness to his public presence — a sense that he is more comfortable in the studio than on the red carpet. This grounded demeanour enhances his credibility as an artist committed to longevity rather than instant fame. He does not overtly reference other artists in his work, though there may be subtle echoes of the Mexican greats Frida Kahlo and Diego Rivera — favourites of his mother — woven quietly into his visual language.

Public fascination has also been reignited by rare and genuinely touching moments of unity between his parents. Seeing Madonna and Guy Ritchie together in public for the first time in years, supporting their son, struck a chord. In an era where celebrity family dynamics are often reduced to spectacle, their shared pride felt sincere. It underscored that Rocco’s journey has not been about rebellion or reaction, but about reconciliation — between heritage and independence, privilege and purpose.

It would be naïve to deny the influence of Madonna’s deep love of art. A lifelong collector with a formidable eye, she has immersed herself in fine art, from classical masters to cutting-edge contemporary works. Growing up around such visual literacy undoubtedly shaped Rocco’s sensibilities. But influence is not imitation. Rather than copying his mother’s tastes, Ritchie appears to have absorbed an understanding of art as dialogue — between past and present, self and society.

What makes his rise feel so timely is that audiences are craving authenticity. Collectors and critics alike are increasingly weary of hype without substance. Ritchie’s work rewards slow looking. It invites interpretation without dictating meaning. This approach has helped him build genuine momentum, with exhibitions that attract attention not because of scandal or surname, but because viewers are curious to see what he will do next.

Rocco Ritchie’s emergence reminds us that legacy does not have to be a burden. It can be a foundation — one that still requires effort, risk, and humility to build upon. He is not storming the art world with noise, but with nuance. And in today’s cultural climate, that quiet confidence may be the most radical statement of all.

END

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2Shades columnist Dr Anna Kennedy OBE honoured

.A Standing Ovation for Service, Heart and Commitment: Dr Anna Kennedy OBE Honoured at Strictly Christmas

There are moments in charity fundraising that feel genuinely special — not staged, not expected, but deeply earned. One such moment came during this year’s Strictly Christmas event, held in support of Zoe’s Place Baby Hospice Coventry, when the Special Recognition Award was presented to Dr Anna Kennedy OBE.

Presented by James Sanders, co-founder of Strictly Christmas, the award recognised nearly a decade of tireless dedication, encouragement and belief from someone who has been part of the event’s very DNA since its earliest days in 2017.

Taking to the microphone, Sanders spoke warmly of Anna’s long-standing role not only as a judge, but as a champion of everything Strictly Christmas stands for. “For the past eight years,” he said, “Dr Anna Kennedy OBE has not only served as a judge, but has been a true ambassador for this event. She brings warmth, professionalism and a genuine love of dance — always encouraging our performers.”

That encouragement, he noted, echoed the support once given to Anna herself by the late Robin Windsor during The People’s Strictly, highlighting the cyclical nature of kindness that defines the Strictly Christmas ethos.

Yet, as Sanders made clear, Anna’s influence stretches far beyond the judges’ table. Behind the scenes, she has been a constant presence — offering guidance, belief and connections that have helped the event grow in stature year on year. Thanks in no small part to her advocacy, the calibre of judges has risen, audiences have expanded, and the fundraising total continues to climb, edging ever closer to the remarkable £1 million milestone.

“Anna has seen every show we’ve put on,” Sanders said, “and every pound raised. Her belief in the Strictly Christmas family has shaped the experience of every performer over the past nine years.”

The recognition was all the more powerful because it was entirely unexpected. Visibly moved, Anna described the moment as “a complete surprise” and “one of the most touching honours I’ve ever received.”

“This event really is the highlight of my year,” she said. “Strictly Christmas is about people — about giving joy, confidence and opportunity while raising vital funds for an extraordinary cause. To be recognised by a family I care so deeply about means the world to me.”

She also reflected on the wider purpose behind the glitter and glamour. “When you see the difference this support makes to families and children at Zoe’s Place, it reminds you why community matters. This is what happens when people come together with heart.”

As the audience rose to its feet, it was clear this award celebrated far more than longevity. It honoured compassion, leadership and a steadfast commitment to lifting others up — values that sit at the very heart of both Strictly Christmas and Dr Anna Kennedy OBE herself.

On a night filled with sparkle, it was humanity that truly stole the show.

Coventry Hospice
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