Since 2020, I’ve marked the closing of each year by sharing one photo and one blog post for each of the preceeding twelve months.
- 2020: My Unpredicted Year
- 2021: My Year in Photos and Blog Posts
- 2022: My Year in Photos and Blog Posts
- 2023: My Year in Photos and Blog Posts
- 2024: My Year in Photos and Blog Posts
Continuing the tradition, here’s my look back at 2025 in photos and blog posts. I hope you’ll enjoy looking through it as much as I did putting it together.
January
As regular followers will be aware I’ve kept a Traveler’s Notebook (TN) for a number of years. I often include it in the photos I share on social media. (I suspect it has more fans than I do.) It holds two inserts and several hand-made folders and pockets. I use it as a memory journal when I’m on holiday and to record other special occasions. Stickers, tickets, photographs, and assorted ephemera cause the inserts to become much thicker than when they were new. The TN as a whole gets impressively “chunky” as a result. This photo was taken just before I archived the older insert and replaced it with a new one. I always feel sad when I do this because it means I’m no longer carrying around the memories the older insert contained. But it’s necessary if I’m to record new memories. It serves as a reminder not to hold too tightly to the past. If you’re interested in the Traveler’s Notebook system check out my list of the various sizes, colours, inserts, and other items.
Continuing the journaling theme, January marked five decades of my keeping a daily diary. In One Day at a Time: Celebrating 50 Years of Diary Writing I explore how that began, the types of diaries and notebooks I’ve used, what I write about, how much and when I write, and why I continue to sit down each day to record the details of my life.
February
I’ve chosen this photo of my local Nandos restaurant because it’s become a regular part of my life over the past year. It’s a ten minute walk from home, it’s light and airy, I love the decor, the staff are welcoming and attentive, and the food is great. What more could anyone ask? Larger coffee servings, perhaps, but I’m partial to a pint of Sagres (“Portugal’s favourite lager”) with my meal so that’s not an issue.
The blog post I’ve selected for February is How to Be There for a Friend: Seven Suggestions for Time to Talk Day. The idea of Time to Talk Day is to foster supportive spaces where people feel safe talking about mental health. In my post I offered seven tips based on my friendships with Fran and others. I shared the post at work and received a really lovely reply. “Thank you for adding this link, that is really useful to me, your suggestions are amazing and so supportive of your friend.” Moments like this remind me that being open about mental health really can make a difference.
March
I took this photo at Longbenton Metro station while waiting for my train after a day in the office. I thought I might use it to illustrate a blog post about self-care. That hasn’t happened but it caught my attention again when I was selecting photos for this end of year post. There’s something about the neon effect text and the model’s looks and pose that don’t quite work for me as an invitation to self-care. But that’s why I like it. There is no one “look” that’s universally appropriate. Self-care is for everyone regardless of how we present and no matter our interests, age, health and ability, gender, sexuality, financial situation, nationality, or ethnic status. The tagline — “The first stop on your self-care journey” — is a neat pun given the poster was displayed on our local rail network. It reminds me that respecting our needs is a process not a destination.
Inner and outer journeys feature in the blog post I’ve chosen to highlight. Inspired by a photograph by Norwegian photographer Vidar Nordli-Mathisen Looking Out is written as an open letter to my best friend Fran. I explore her sometimes complex relationship with travel, contrasting her wanderlust with my nature as a “stay-at-home, rocking chair loving, ‘comfort creature traveling vicariously.’” Viewed from that perspective, “I’m watching from inside the house [in the photograph], experiencing the world through your eyes and your words.” That’s not the only way to interpret the image, however.
Another shift in perspective. The woman standing by the lake is still, contemplative. Perhaps she’s not setting out on new adventures but returning home from meeting friends or from the store, her backpack filled not with travel supplies but with wholesome ingredients for the meals she’ll prepare in her cosy home. She ponders her life, everything she’s seen and achieved, and questions whether one more adventure would add anything to her appreciation of life or her sense of self-worth. Perhaps, she thinks, it’s enough to stand in awe and take it all in. With a final glance at the mountains, she walks the narrow winding path to her little house. Opening the door, she calls out to say she’s home. I’ve already got the kettle on.
It’s my personal favourite of the pieces I’ve written this year. I know it means as much to Fran as it does to me.
April
As the blog post I wrote afterwards records, “Thursday April 17, 2025 was a big day for me. I took myself on an adventure. It wasn’t a big adventure. Just a day out at the coast. But it was the first time I’d taken myself out for the day in almost a year.” Of the many photographs I took that day the bleakness of this litho-filtered selfie best captures my mood. I had no idea what I was supposed to be doing, why I’d gone out, or how I was feeling.
I guess the question I’m posing by doing something different is “what difference does it make?” Why did I come here instead of spending another morning writing at Costa? Is this better? The same? Or is the question itself meaningless? There’s no scale against which to measure any of it. Do this. Do that. The universe doesn’t care — or even notice — what I choose to do or how I choose to spend my time.
The one thing I did want to do was buy chips and sit eating them by the sea. I failed utterly in my mission. A friend loved my reference to “potato-related disappointments” but I wasn’t laughing at the time. There were lighter moments but the title of my blog post — When the Chips Are Down: A Tale of Frustration, Sailboats, and Sharing — captures my mood perfectly.
May
You might wonder how I choose the photos for my end of year blog post. There are no specific criteria. Sometimes I pick an image because it relates to the blog post I want to highlight for that month. The shadow selfie (April) and joint selfie in the Wateredge Inn (July) are examples of that. Sometimes, the photo is a jumping off point that affords me the opportunity to talk about something else. That’s the case with my Traveler’s Notebook photo (January) and the self-care poster (March). Sometimes, I just really like the photo for its own sake, as with the interior shot of Nandos restaurant (February) or the view north from Durano Lounge (October). And sometimes I choose a photo because it brings back fond memories. The photo of St. Thomas’ church taken from Caffè Nero in Newcastle (August) is a good example of that, as is this one of two horses in their field.
It’s not a great photograph. The horses merge into the background. One has its head down. The focus is soft and there are artefacts from the digital zoom. The moment itself — 12:12 pm, May 6, 2025 — carries no specific significance. And yet I selected it out of all the photos I took that month. It evokes for me the lunchtime walks I’ve taken through the year when I’ve been working from home. Weather permitting (and often in the rain) I’ve taken myself out to stretch my legs and get some fresh air. I cover much the same route each day. It’s one I finessed during the long months of lockdown in 2020 and 2021. The “horsie field” marks the furthest extent of my walk. I don’t go that far every day but it’s nice to visit them now and again, especially if I’m on a video call with Fran. We’ll each call out to them and give them a wave. I doubt the horses realise they’re known and greeted from three thousand miles away in Maine. Isn’t that the way of things, though? We don’t always know who sees us, thinks kindly of us, and wishes us well. A little lesson there, I think.
The blog post I’ve selected for May is The Man the Myth the Legend: A Few Thoughts On Turning Sixty-Four. Inspired by an office conversation about birthdays I looked at my health and statistical life expectancy, inevitable if not imminent retirement, and generational stereotypes. More generally, it afforded me the opportunity to think about what it means to be the age I am and how old age is perceived.
It’s nice that people can’t believe I’m as old as I say, but I actually am sixty-four. What does that mean? What does it feel like to be me at this particular point in my life? What’s it like to live in this sixty-four year old body? In — or with — this sixty-four year old mind? The first thing to say is that I don’t feel old. But that only dodges the question. What does old mean, anyway? What does it mean to be old? How old is old?
I’m reminded of a t-shirt I saw recently with the slogan “IT’S WEIRD BEING THE SAME AGE AS OLD PEOPLE.” The guy wearing it looked younger than me. Make of that what you will.
June
This photo was taken on a return visit to the coast, following the potato-related disappointment of my April excursion. This time I was there at the invitation of three friends. Before meeting up with Aimee, Spencer, and Jack for what turned out to be a lovely afternoon I had time to fulfil my earlier mission. This chip buttie from Bill’s Fish Bar in Cullercoats really hit the mark! Keen followers might recall that chips also featured in my roundup of 2024. What can I say? I like my chips!
The blog post I’ve chosen was inspired by one of my many lunchtime walks. As I describe in Do You Ever Just Do Nothing? I was on a video call with Fran. Looking ahead to the weekend I mentioned how unusual it was that I didn’t have a blog topic ready to work on. Fran thought for a moment, then asked “Do you ever just do nothing?” My search for a blog topic was over. It’s very rare that I take time to “do nothing.” It was an interesting piece to write and I included the thoughts of friends who shared what “doing nothing” means to them.
July
Meeting John at the bar of the Wateredge Inn was one of the highlights of my year. (I don’t get out much!) Our ten minute conversation inspired three blog posts. In One Must Imagine Marty and John Happy: Two Strangers Discuss the Absurd in an Ambleside Pub I described our meeting that rainy morning in July. My Welsh Nightmare fulfils John suggestion that I share some “miserable places” to counterpoint my 2022 post describing Four of My Happy Places. Finally, An Instrument for Living: How Am I Using My Words? is my response to another of John’s suggestions, Colin Wilson’s book The Outsider.
August
I rarely go into Newcastle city centre these days. One of the highlights of 2024 was visiting the Laing Art Gallery to see an exhibition by the English artist J. M. W. Turner. This August’s trip was rather more mundane. The four hours spent at the bank sorting out a new account were less than noteworthy but I enjoyed the opportunity to revisit my favourite city coffee shop, Caffè Nero at St. Mary’s Place. I took this photo of St. Thomas’ church on a whim but it came out nicely and remains one of my favourite images of 2025. It reminds me of the many happy hours I’ve spent in that coffee shop over the years. St. Thomas’ was the starting point for the Jingle Bell Walk which a friend and I completed for charity in 2018 and 2019. Good memories.
Not all memories are easy, however, and not all friendships endure. I explored aspects of this in You Feel like Someone I Knew a Long Time Ago — Why Are Friendship Breakups So Hard? It’s not the most cohesive piece I’ve ever written but it stands as an honest attempt to address some of my hangups and failings as a friend. It closes with an insight that’s helped me more than once and is relevant to the Caffè Nero photo. “I didn’t lock the door. I just stopped watching at the window for your return.”
September
In December 2023 I reviewed some of the time management strategies I’ve employed over the years. These include the diaries I’ve kept since I was fourteen, clock and calendar apps, to do lists, social media posts, chat histories, and my blog posts. I also described my on-off relationship with Filofax organisers. This September I purchased a second-hand A5 Lyndhurst organiser (pictured) from a seller on Vinted. Surprisingly, I’m still using it almost every day. I’ve since acquired a Personal size Filofax Clipbook (thank you Aimee) and organiser (thank you Robyn) and a second-hand Naya Paperie organiser.
An office conversation inspired me to explore the role chocolate has played in my friendships over the years. In First Munchie / Last Rolo: Little (Chocolate) Things Mean a Lot I indulged fond sweet-related memories, from old TV adverts for Rolo and Milk Tray to gifts of Jelly Tots, Dairy Milk, and Freddos. The post closes with one of my newest friends offering me her last Rolo. (Thanks, Sophie!)
October
It was difficult selecting just one photo for October. I had two weeks off work and enjoyed day trips in the north-east of England and the Lake District. In the end I chose the view looking north along the coast from Durano Lounge on Tynemouth’s Grand Parade. Styled as a café bar Durano Lounge is housed in the former toy museum. The atmosphere is warm and inviting, the staff are great, and the food is second to none with a good selection of vegetarian and vegan dishes. As you can see from the photo the location isn’t bad either.
I wasn’t the only person on vacation during October. Fran spent two weeks on the Greek island of Poros. She was visiting a dear friend of ours who is a captain and instructor on a women’s sailing programme. It was a successful trip but as I recounted in Seven Hours on Sun-beds (I’m Not a Beach Person) being in a beautiful location doesn’t mean it’s easy to set one’s problems and concerns aside. “Sometimes,” I wrote, “being a supportive friend means sitting with them through their darkest moments. And sometimes, it means sitting with them on a beach helping them relax.”
That might sound odd. What’s difficult about relaxing on a beach in the Mediterranean? Weren’t there any more serious issues or problems to blog about? What about the preparation for the trip? The journey itself? There were challenges of that kind and I’ve written about those aspects of traveling before. But relaxation isn’t a given when you live with chronic mental and physical illness.
That day at the beach was the first time Fran felt able to relax into her trip. As I messaged her before she headed back to Laurel’s apartment, “You’ve made this day your own, Fran. I’m proud of you.”
November
This photo of Stacey and Jamie McNeill of Fox Under the Moon was taken at this year’s Christmas Market at Spanish City in Whitley Bay. Meeting them was the highlight of a splendid day out at the coast.
November was a prolific writing month for me. My keynote post was inspired by Colin Wilson’s book The Outsider. In An Instrument for Living: How Am I Using My Words? I examined what lies beneath and behind my witing, concluding that “it’s how I record, reflect, and connect with myself and the world around me.” I wrote two posts for International Men’s Day this year. From Joe 90 to Marty: Celebrating the Boy I Was and the Man I Would Become explored aspects of my childhood and teens. I wrote a follow-up post at Aimee’s invitation. You’ll Never Walk Alone (Walking Alone) was published on International Men’s Day at I’m NOT Disordered and later here at Gum on My Shoe.
December
This photo was taken early in December on one of my lunchtime walks. The splendour of autumn had passed but even in the rain the fallen leaves glowed a rich copper-gold. I like the framing. My umbrella invites the viewer more deeply into the picture than if I’d simply showed the wet ground and the bare trees. Just out of sight at the end of the path is the postbox that inspired my tribute to the perilous act of posting a letter.
Many of this year’s blog posts were inspired by conversations with friends and colleagues. I’ve mentioned a few of these already. Others owed their inspiration to encounters with people I’d not met before. (I’m with William Butler Yeats on this one. “There are no strangers here; only friends you haven’t met yet.”) Bearing that in mind, I smiled at a social media post I saw recently.
writing at coffee shops is great bc every time i need to add in a minor side character i just steal the name and essence of whoever is picking up their order from the barista in that moment. enjoy your cappuccino isaac you are about to die to advance the plot
A few of my short stories were inspired by comments overheard in cafés or coffee shops. “Playing at Darkness” and “Gamma in the Wrong Place” spring to mind, the latter written in the downstairs café at Elula in Newcastle. These days the quotation is more relevant to my blogging. I reposted it with the comment “Blogging in coffee shops is great because the briefest of conversations can inspire a new blog post!” Two such exchanges inspired “Can I Ask What You Do?” Two Coffee Shop Conversations That Reminded Me What Life’s All About.
So if you see me in a coffee shop or café don’t be shy. Wave a hand in front of my face or stand quietly at my side until I notice you’re there. A word of warning, however. There’s every chance you’ll end up in a future blog post!
I look forward to many such encounters in the year ahead.
Photo and Blog Post of the Year
It’s always fun selecting my photo of the year. For 2020 I chose one of a gaily painted garden fence. The following year it was a selfie wearing my BOYS GET SAD TOO hoodie. For 2022 I selected a photo of the Traveler’s Notebook I use as a memory journal. A year later it was another selfie, this time wearing my LIFE IS SHORT BLOG MORE t-shirt. I have a few writing-related shirts these days. As I sit in my favourite coffee shop today I’m wearing one that declares THIS IS MY WRITING SHIRT. They reflect my increasingly confident self-identity as a writer and blogger. I concluded my 2024 retrospective with a photograph taken on the final evening of my summer vacation in the Lake District.
This year’s photo of the year is another selfie. It was taken in the office one Wednesday in September. I’m wearing my Live2Live t-shirt with its YOU ARE ENOUGH slogan. As I wrote in a post for World Suicide Prevention Day “wearing t-shirts is not enough its own. It nevertheless demonstrates to those around you that you’re a safe person to approach or talk to about subjects which so often are considered taboo.” I wear it proudly, for others and as a reminder to myself. It was my social media profile photo for a while and one of three photographs I chose to illustrate my “From Joe 90 to Marty” piece for International Men’s Day. The shirt’s message is important to me. As I’ve commented elsewhere, “recognising we’re enough just as we are, with all our insecurities, hang-ups, and problems, is the most valuable of self-realisations.”
It’s something I’ve worked on a lot this year. In addition to asserting my identity as a writer and blogger — I’m not ready to accept the label of “influencer” despite it having been suggested several times — I’ve laid claim to the badge of Outsider. This was most explicit in my November post An Instrument for Living in which I declared “it’s a relief to have a badge to wear, even if few regard it.” That statement unwittingly echoes a line uttered by Susanna Aurifaber in the medieval murder mystery drama Cadfael (“The Sanctuary Sparrow”): “I have my pride ... even if no other regards it.” There may be more to it than relief or pride. Fran pointed me to a quote by author Arthur Brooks. In Find More Ways to Be an Outsider Brooks asserts “A mountain of evidence shows that in the long run, being an outsider predicts well-being and emotional strength; it may even protect against depression.”
Another label I’ve claimed publicly this year is that of atheist, most clearly in my June article How Sad the Song: An Atheist Ponders His Mortality. This is something I’ve wanted to explore for a long time and it’s my selection for blog post of the year. One paragraph will suffice to summarise a position I’ve held staunchly throughout my adult life.
My stance is far less scholarly and well-reasoned than those of Richard Dawkins or Christopher Hitchens, but I agree with them on this. I find no personal, philosophical, or scientific need for there to be a god or gods, and am unconvinced by arguments to the contrary. I’m as certain there’s no god as I’m certain there’s no continuity of the self beyond death. Which is to say, utterly and completely certain.
To some that outlook might seem sad, bleak, or frankly terrifying. I find it none of those things. As I wrote, “there will be a day that dawns without me in it” but that’s the way of things. No hand-wringing or wishful thinking on my part will change that reality. I’ve asserted elsewhere that there is peace in closed chapters. I was writing of friendships long set aside but the idea deserves exploring in a broader context. That’s for another occasion. In the meantime, as the chapter of 2025 closes, may there be peace for us all.
Here’s to 2026, whatever it may bring.
All photos by Martin Baker.
