True Stories & Essays

Benjamin Zander realised a conductor makes no sound. A quarter of storms, grief and tinkering taught me what that might mean for a one-person business, and why everyone may soon have an orchestra.

A walk through Soho, London, turns sour and Jamie is left wondering where he went wrong.

A fight over tap water in Tallinn, and the small, absurd battle against a city’s growing devotion to Big Bottle.

The lessons and progress from another three months of writing Jamie’s Journal, and a revised editorial focus.

‘You’ve been here a while now. Do you prefer San Francisco or London?’ Fran, Britney, and I were having lunch in the canteen. I finished my bite and answered without hesitation. Souring my colleagues' excitement wasn't my intention, but I can't deny that seeing their...

I found Vincent the way you find most good things: in a bookshop. We were both attending a signing event by one of our favourite authors and happened to be neighbours in the queue. As seems to be custom for my best friends, Vincent promptly left the country.

This week, I figured out that the entire wellness supplement industry was, for most practical purposes, a very attractive wall of nothing. I did this while trying to fix my eyes. Nobody was particularly interested.

At the start of this year, my main ambition was to not fall apart.

After what grief did to me when Mum passed, I knew better than to rush into chaining myself to a strict writing schedule in 2025. I wrote and worked, but it was flexible and forgiving. I took things one day at a time and retreated back to being a sobbing mess whenever I got stuck in a grief spiral.

My freshly launched website got taken over by Russian hackers. What followed was bizarre, infuriating, and promptly got turned into a stage show.

‘Accept our Lord and saviour, Jesus Christ!’

Ugh. This guy again.

Ever since I got burgled, I’ve become more defensive when it comes to protecting my home. I haven’t told you about the burglary yet. It happened in May 2025. I’m still dealing with the fallout.

I already know the name of my next book: The Last Google. It will be dedicated to my Dad. The idea for the title came from a bittersweet discovery I made on his phone after he passed away. When we die, we leave echoes. They get quieter as time passes. Lipstick‑stained...

It was January 7th, 2026 and I’d already dialled 999. The morning had brought an unnatural cold. The streets were iced and London was taken by surprise.[1] I rushed out, eager to swing into the New Year. I had big plans for 2026, but I didn’t expect to be greeted by...

This week, my sister and I went to visit our grandma for her 100th birthday, which is a sentence that already feels like a lie.

Note: the names have been changed for the sake of privacy. This story is about Marcus Brown, but first, I need to tell you about coffee shops. The next time you visit a coffee shop lay on the ground. Don’t offer any explanation. Just lay there for a solid 30-seconds,...

Through the crowd, a voice cut through, 'You have a lucky face'. Weaving through the jubilee bustle, I'd ducked down Bow Street to skirt the edge of the celebratory storm that stretched from Buckingham Palace to Leicester Square and overflowed into Covent Garden's...

Trigger warning: this story mentions drink spiking. At 24, I decided to give up alcohol for the year. Well, 99% of the year. A month before my birthday, I had my drink spiked. It was a blackout moment for me. I was at a party with dire wolves, caged dancers, and...

What we gain in luxury, we lose in community. Sometimes that's brilliant. Community can be the undoing of many joys. Take community peanuts. They're theoretically a fun snack, but sharing is certainly not caring after being touched by a few unwashed hands. That's when...

'I've been told to tell you that you need to check your pidge'. She buzzed with mulled wine and held my gaze, seeing if her message had made it through the Christmas jingles playing in the Old Kitchen Bar. It hadn't, so she urged me with her eyebrows, lifting them in...

The butterfly’s first mistake was visiting my balcony. His wings were the colour of optimism, and he’d popped by after spotting the greenery growing in my plant pots. He would flutter and land, flutter and land, acknowledging each plant with a quick perch like a...

My parent’s garden is unlike the others in the neighbourhood. If one of the satellites falling through space were to cast its camera over the part of England where I grew up, it would see a sprawl of suburban houses. With each passing day, the satellite would uncover...

Would you ever hack someone’s Facebook account? What if they’re grooming underage students and you need evidence to convict them? This is the story of how I helped catch a criminal. — I remember when the internet used to sing. Explaining it to someone unfamiliar with...

After the last weekend, I’ve been compelled to write a cow attack survival guide. I couldn’t find one, so I have to presume it’s because there haven’t been any survivors up until now. Below is a story on getting charged at by a cow and how I lived to tell the tale....

It’s been a year since the pandemic left me unemployed. Picking myself up from the knock, I decided it was time to stop delaying the inevitable and start my own thing. On Jamoe’s 1st birthday, here’s the story of how I decided to take on building a 21st century media...

Western media is pretty mischievous. You can see it in the UK, but it’s clearer in America. Ordinary looking people are brushed under the carpet, so centre stage can be given to those with a perfect sort of beauty. At its extreme, its the pursuit of perfect beauty...