The Thrill of the Walk

I am about to embark on yet another adventure into the unknown. With a newly minted law degree, I have heard the call to the Bar.

I have noticed, more than once, the momentary glazing of eyes — the unspoken question hovering behind it: “Why would you do that at your age?”

I know why.

In September 1974, I left Gordonstoun School to begin my first real walk in the world. Alongside friends, I travelled to Northern Italy to build grain silos. Hard physical labour offset by opera at the Arena di Verona, generous Italian wine, and immersion in culture. That year concluded with a six-week solo journey across Europe, backpacking from the Arctic edge of Norway to Madrid.

At the time, it felt like adventure. In retrospect, it was education of a rarer kind.

Gordonstoun’s philosophy, shaped by Kurt Hahn, places great emphasis on the walk — often silent, always reflective. Hahn famously warned students to “never underestimate the power of self-deception.” At first glance, this seems a moral caution: be honest about your weaknesses, your blind spots, your capacity to rationalise poor decisions.

But long walks have a way of deepening ideas.

What I came to understand – slowly,  across landscapes and cultures – was that self-deception works in another direction as well. We deceive ourselves into believing that something is impossible. And once we do that, we quietly abandon it.

My time at Gordonstoun was brief but cathartic. I acted, sang, served, sailed, climbed, performed, and observed. I learned that actors, by necessity, believe anything is possible – that truth can be reached through imagination, discipline, and empathy. I learned that ambition without service is hollow. And I learned that identity is not fixed; it is discovered through movement, risk, and responsibility.

Those eight months left an enduring imprint. What could easily have been Gordonstoun lite became, for me, a Hahnian hurricane – instilling a belief that there is always more within us to discover, but always in service of something larger.

That belief carried me into a life in the performing arts – a forty-five-year career spanning producing, directing, teaching, and performing; marked by both success and failure; lived on stages from Tamworth to London’s West End. It gave me a public platform and, with it, a sense of obligation: to speak on issues meaningfully connected to lived experience.

The birth of my three daughters sharpened that obligation. I became deeply involved in advocacy addressing violence against women, child abuse prevention, and, more recently, the fight against modern slavery and human trafficking as an Ambassador for Freedom Hub.

Along the way, there were reinventions – some chosen, some forced. Creative triumphs and public failures. Feature films, abandoned projects, and the slow, necessary humility that comes from starting again. Eventually, that reinvention took me back to study. In 2025, I completed a Juris Doctor.

Now, I walk again – the  Bar, toward another unknown.

Why law? Because the same questions persist: service, justice, responsibility, voice. Because belief in possibility matters – especially when institutions falter, when power is uneven, when trust is fragile. And because the courage to begin again is not the preserve of youth.

When I reflect on how this path unfolded, I realise it began on one of many silent walks. Somewhere along the way, I quietly inverted Hahn’s warning into a personal creed:

Never deceive yourself into believing that anything is impossible.

More eloquently put:

Plus est en vous.