23,000 Sunsets
I turned 63 on Wednesday. It occurred to me that I've now lived through around 23,000 sunsets. Some have been spectacular, some long forgotten, some shared with people I love, and many have simply marked another ordinary day. Every sunset is a reminder that we've been given another day—and another chance to make tomorrow count.
I try to live with that thought. It encourages me to be creative, productive and curious, to make each day matter. But the glue that holds this increasingly rickety ship together is laughter.
It's often said that laughter is the best medicine. Perhaps that's more spiritually true than medically accurate, but there's undeniable wisdom in it. I don't mean a polite chuckle—as Frankie Howerd might have called a titter—but those deep, uncontrollable belly laughs that leave your sides aching and tears streaming down your face. They're in surprisingly short supply these days, crowded out by busy lives and everyday pressures. Yet when they come, they remind us how good life can be.
This week was full of those moments.
They've been built on friendships that have endured for more than thirty years, surviving changing circumstances and different seasons of life. We've attended each other's weddings, watched our children grow up, celebrated their marriages and now delight in seeing them become parents themselves. These are young people we're proud to know. They give us hope that the future is in good hands.
Like most people, we've all faced health challenges and difficult times, but perhaps this chapter of life feels different. It feels like our time to appreciate what really matters. We feel blessed in ways we could never have imagined when we were younger.
Being able to gather together for my birthday, as Helen and I have done with these friends over many years, is something I'll always treasure. Our friendship has grown alongside our marriages, our families and all the twists and turns that life has brought. This year felt especially joyful because, for a few precious days, everything simply slowed down.
On Monday we left our home in the Kingdom of Norfolk and travelled to the Derbyshire Dales, a place we've visited many times before. There's something comforting about returning to familiar places. They don't demand anything from you; they simply invite you to relax. We stayed together in an Airbnb and quickly settled into the easy rhythm of good company.
Our base was Youlgreave, a beautiful village whose history stretches back to before the Domesday Book. Once prosperous through lead mining, today it's a peaceful place with three welcoming pubs, limestone cottages and a crystal-clear stream flowing through the valley, complete with a designated wild swimming area.
The purpose of the trip was simple: for Helen and me to celebrate my birthday with friends we've known for more than three decades. Ours is the kind of friendship that becomes woven into the fabric of life. We share running, photography, music, conversations that wander from the profound to the ridiculous, and above all a genuine enjoyment of each other's company.
My friend Mark is an artist of considerable talent, whose work will soon be exhibited and available to purchase. Both he and Andrea are gifted musicians, and they bring fascinating stories, quiet wisdom and plenty of humour to every conversation. They're understated, modest people, but endlessly inspiring.
They're runners too, so naturally each day began with us heading out through the valleys and over the surrounding hills. Running has a wonderful way of stripping life back to its essentials. There's conversation, comfortable silence, shared effort and the occasional pause to admire a view and recover the Cockapoo from the River , but that’s another story.
My birthday itself was wonderful. After our morning run, we headed into Bakewell, a town that's always fascinated me. It manages the delicate balance between being one of the Peak District's most popular tourist destinations while remaining a genuine market town at the heart of a busy farming community.
One photograph I took summed that up perfectly: a gleaming Porsche parked outside Fairfax & Favor—a luxury Norfolk brand—while a pair of working tractors rumbled past. It captured the contrast between countryside tradition and modern affluence in a couple of frames. There is a full set of images from Bakewell on the link below.
That evening we enjoyed a meal at the pub. I've largely drifted away from alcohol in recent years, persuaded by the health benefits, but as my grandmother used to say, "A little of what you fancy does you good." I enjoyed a proper pie, and it was magnificent.
It's funny how the meals that were once ordinary everyday food have become life's little luxuries. Things we hardly noticed as children somehow become special occasions as we grow older.
The following day we visited the Chatsworth Estate. After another morning run, of course.
Chatsworth is always a pleasure. We've toured the house before, so this time we simply wandered through the grounds, climbed the hillside and admired the magnificent view looking back across the estate as the sunshine lit the landscape. We ate sandwiches on the top and enjoyed the view from the grounds of the Hunting Tower.
There was also an impressive display of vintage tractors, classic cars and motorcycles during our visit, giving me plenty of opportunities to indulge my love of photography. Helen has long accepted that when a camera is in my hands, progress slows considerably. Thankfully, she shares my love of discovering places and never minds waiting while I chase "just one more photograph."
On our final evening the four of us gathered once more around the table. Helen smiled afterwards and said she couldn't remember the last time we'd laughed quite so much. We ate, drank wine and laughed so loudly that the neighbours in the adjoining cottage must have wondered whether a thunderstorm had rolled into Derbyshire.
As I think about 23,000 sunsets, I realise it isn't the number that matters. It's who you watch them with.
I'm thankful beyond words for a wife who still shares my adventures, whether that's running another trail, wandering with a camera, exploring another village or simply sitting with good friends over dinner. Helen has been beside me through every season of life—the easy ones and the difficult ones—and I'm reminded daily how fortunate I am that we still look forward to the next adventure together.
I'm equally grateful for friendships, and we are blessed with others not mentioned here —friendships that have equally stood the test of time and grown richer with every passing year. I have lost some dear friends, chairs that can never be filled but I’m still grateful for the time I spent with them , and will never forget them.
They remind me that the greatest wealth we can accumulate isn't measured in possessions or achievements but in shared memories, unwavering loyalty and laughter that leaves your sides aching.
If the measure of a life is not the number of sunsets we've seen but the people who have stood beside us while the sun went down, then I count myself an extraordinarily fortunate man.
Here's to the next sunset.
There is full album of images from this trip and others on this link - click here
