Practical eating, honest living.

I like the Mediterranean diet. But I also like the Nordic diet — sauerkraut bubbling away on the counter, potatoes cooked then frozen to make them healthier when reheated, sourdough rye bread, root vegetables, summer light making things grow. And I like the best bits of the so-called Blighty diet: cheddar that tastes like actual cheese, fish and chips done properly, hot curries that make you sweat, and British tea that hydrates without overdosing you on caffeine. Put them together and you get something like a “Nordic–Blighty–Mediterranean” diet — realistic, varied, and not dependent on emptying Spain’s olive groves in a fortnight.

My life isn’t a montage of perfect workouts and neatly plated meals. Some weeks I’m running two or three times, or cycling around Helsinki on a bike I’ve rebuilt myself (from one of the worst-made frames on the market). Other weeks, my “exercise” is ten hours of bending over on my knees cleaning, painting or repairing— after which the last thing I want to do is run anywhere. And I count that as fine. Because if I’m working physically, that’s movement. If I’m sitting at a desk editing, then yes, I want to burst out the door in my running shoes — the ones with holes in them.

Driving is another thing. I see every minute in a car as a minute lost to walking or cycling — at least for those who are able. I’ve never understood the idea of driving to the corner shop when that short trip could be the burst of fresh air your body actually needs.

And food? I’m not here to deliver a sermon about perfect eating. Processed food isn’t automatically evil — it’s “side-loaded” with nutrients just like I once side-loaded Alexa onto my watch. Sometimes that’s useful, sometimes it’s just marketing. A tin of baked beans is haricot beans in a tomato base — good in parts, questionable in others. Ketchup is the same: the tomato’s fine, the sugar’s not. It’s all about balance, not blind loyalty to a fad.

That’s what gets me about the health gurus. They package their lives into this endlessly marketable highlight reel. The message isn’t just “eat better” or “move more” — it’s that perfection is possible if you copy them exactly. But nobody tells you they skip their own plan half the time. And that’s where trust breaks down. The human mind is bad at remembering we’re looking at edited versions of reality. You start thinking everyone else is perfect except you.

If everyone in the world followed the Mediterranean diet to the letter, the olive oil would run out after about 1% of the population stocked their shelves. That’s the problem with lifestyle advice: it sounds lovely in theory, but it’s designed for a world that doesn’t exist. It’s the same polished mirage you see on podcasts and YouTube — all glowing skin, perfect pantries, and slow-drizzle salad shots. Nobody films the days they eat crisps for dinner or feel too knackered to move.

So I’m sticking with my mix-and-match approach. The Nordic–Blighty–Mediterranean diet. Physical work when it happens, deliberate exercise when it doesn’t. Eating for fuel when I need it, for pleasure when I want it. And if you ask me whether it “works” — I’ll let you know when I’m 85.