I’m Constance Grayson, though most people call me Connie, and if you’ve landed here, you’re probably most people.
I grew up in Grimethorpe, South Yorkshire, in a mining family. My dad was a miner. My grandfathers were miners. My uncle, two of my brothers. I didn’t grow up theorising about what it means to live in a community that’s been pushed to its limits. I grew up inside it. That shapes everything I do.
These days I work as a consultant specialising in the third sector. Grant funding is my core specialism, and I’ve been doing it long enough to know the difference between a consultant who writes bids and one who understands why they succeed or fail. Over two decades, working with hundreds of organisations across the sector, I haven’t had a single failed charity formation or CIC registration. Not one. I’ve built policy packs from scratch, taken clients through quality marks without a query, untangled governance problems, and written volunteer and communications strategies for organisations that had no idea where to start. I’m the person they phone when they don’t know who else to ring. I’m fine with that.
Outside the consultancy work, I’m an active foster carer. Ours isn’t a household that learns about neurodiversity from a handout. Both of our foster children are neurodivergent teenagers. Both of our birth children live with severe dyslexia and visual stress, and one also has ADHD. Between them, they’ve taught me more about how people actually think, learn, and struggle than any CPD ever could. That knowledge runs directly into my third-sector work, because the communities I support are full of people whose needs get misunderstood, underfunded, and underestimated in exactly the same ways.
Our household is busy, loud, and musical. My husband is a competition-winning Bhangra coach and one of the UK’s top Dholis, officially “retired,” though nobody’s told his body yet. Turn up unannounced and you’ll almost certainly catch the smell of something excellent on the hob, whether it’s my aloo paratha or his Patiala chicken, or something wonderfully in between.
We share our home with two magnificent Weimaraners, Bodhi and Thor. Bodhi is a master opportunist who will absolutely liberate your roast dinner if left unattended. Thor regularly steals a hammer from the garden when you are working and parades it around like a trophy. He’s also been known to help himself to milk and the occasional doughnut, when backs are turned.
This blog is where I think out loud, about community, about work, about the gap between how things are supposed to work and how they actually do. It’s not polished. It’s not a glossy personal brand exercise. It’s just honest, and I reckon that’s more useful anyway.
If you want perfectly curated and professionally distant, this probably isn’t the place. But if you want straight-talking, coffee-fuelled, occasionally dog-interrupted thoughts from someone who genuinely gives a damn, pull up a chair.
Just don’t leave your sandwich unattended. Thor is faster than he looks.
Whether you’ve stumbled across this blog and fancy a chat, or you’re a third-sector organisation wondering if I can help – my contact page is right there. I don’t bite, and I do reply. Let’s talk.
