I’m Connie – Yorkshire-born, perpetually fuelled by coffee my family often describes as tar, and adept at balancing purpose with delightful chaos in a way that, more often than not, just works.

By day, I’m deep in the world of Community Interest Companies (CICs), grassroots initiatives, and social enterprises. My professional calling involves wrangling funding applications and crafting fundraising strategies for remarkable people and projects striving to do good in challenging places. There’s usually a looming deadline and a rather stubborn spreadsheet involved, but it’s work I’m truly passionate about.

When I’m not immersed in the professional sphere, my evenings are a vibrant blend of family life. I’m typically found refereeing sibling squabbles, leading impromptu cooking lessons (where a burnt boiled egg isn’t an entirely unheard-of phenomenon), and navigating the glorious, often noisy, chaos of foster care and family life. Ours is a wonderfully musical household – a band-loving bunch, whether I like it or not! I’ve officially retired from playing; frankly, I’m too old, too cranky, and thanks to the menopause, coaxing a note out of a soprano cornet is more faff than it’s worth these days. I do try to spare company my singing, but the boys are perfectly accustomed to it when no one’s watching.

Home is a brilliant, busy blend of cultures. My husband is a competition-winning Bhangra coach and one of the UK’s top Dholis, even if he now claims to be “retired” because he feels ancient. He still blames the Dhol for every ache, injury, or suspicious muscle twinge. That said, I’ve never seen him move faster than when a spider appears in the bathroom! And yes, memorably, there was The Day Dad Set the Kitchen in Flames. Technically, it was just the hob (and the cupboard above, which turned a rather dramatic shade of soot), but it absolutely lives on in family legend. He blames the pan. We blame him.

Turn up at our house and you’ll almost always find the delicious aroma of Indian food on the go – whether it’s my comforting aloo paratha or his rich Patiala chicken, or something wonderfully in between. There’s music, movement, mismatched socks, and usually more half-finished ideas than hours in the day.

We share our home with two magnificent Weimaraners, Bodhi and Thor. Bodhi, bless him, is a master of opportunism and will absolutely liberate your roast dinner if left unattended for too long. Thor, true to his name, once earned it by pilfering a hammer from the garden and parading it around like a prized possession. He’s also been known to help himself to milk, and the occasional doughnut, when backs are turned.

Our family is a lively mix – two birth children and two foster children, each adding their own wonderful energy and perspective. Life’s certainly never dull, but that’s precisely the point.

I genuinely love life, and I reckon it’s meant for living – properly, and with immense passion. I’m prone to reading too many books simultaneously, collecting quotes like treasured keepsakes, and always carry a notebook for scribbles, half-decent ideas, and the occasional full-blown rant. I firmly believe that curiosity trumps credentials, that ‘done’ is always better than ‘perfect’, and that if you wait for life to be calm to embark on something, you might just be waiting forever.

And if you’re wondering, this is the brain behind The Art of Stupidity, where I share thoughts from the beautiful, messy middle of life, work, and community. This blog is where I unpack all of that – the messy, the meaningful, the ridiculous, and the wonderfully real. If you’re after glossy perfection, this probably isn’t the place. But if you like your thoughts straight-up – with a good mug of coffee and a few crumbs on the side – then welcome to the messy middle. There’s always room for one more. Just don’t leave your sandwich unattended; Thor’s faster than he looks.

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Let’s build something together.

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