A life less ordinary

How did I get here?

When I look back over my life, I can think of a few key moments that completely transformed it. Getting married. Having children. Deciding to become a cat owner, although that’s not quite true. Cats don’t have owners. Dogs have owners. Cats have staff. Getting my over-60s Oyster card. Retiring early.
And then becoming an Anthony Nolan courier. That’s the one that turned me from an ordinary bloke into someone living a life of international travel.
So how did a complete non-entity like me end up jetting around the globe to Argentina, Chile, South Africa, Canada, the USA, Hong Kong, New Zealand and Brazil? And Germany… lots of trips to Germany. A bit like a rock star, but with economy flights and without the TVs thrown out of hotel windows.
I’ve spoken to several couriers, and I know many came into this role through very personal experiences. Some had family members who needed a stem cell transplant. Some saw loved ones go through treatment themselves. Some of those stories had happy endings. Some didn’t. And despite that, they still volunteer as couriers to help others in the same position. I find that genuinely awe-inspiring.
Fortunately, my own route into becoming a courier was far less traumatic — and it has to be said, far less impressive.

On the scrapheap at 58

Although I’ve only been a courier since June 2023, my story starts in April 2021. I’m 58 and a half years old, a long 8 and a half years from the magic age of 67 when my state pension kicks in.My company has just been sold, and I’m absolutely dreading the thought of learning the fancy new computer system that’s about to be foisted upon us — which would probably take me about eight years to get to grips with.
Fortunately, the new owners weren’t especially keen on spending eight years teaching an old fossil like me how to use it. So a conversation was had and a deal was struck. Like most of these things, they paid me more than they wanted to, and I received less than I wanted to — but both sides could live with it.
And just like that, there I was: 58 and a half, unwanted, unneeded, surplus to requirements. “On the scrapheap” was my personal favourite!

My first thought was: where is a guy like me, with, let’s face it, pretty limited abilities and an analogue skill set in a digital world, going to find another reasonably well-paid job at my age? My second thought was: given the circumstances… do I need to? So I called my financial adviser. A week later, I sat in his office.
“Well,” he said, “I have some good news, some bad news, and then a bit more good news.”
“Go on,” I said.
“The good news is you never have to work again, and you can live like a king for the rest of your life.”
Excellent.
“The bad news,” he continued, “is that this only works if you die a week on Tuesday.”
That did take some of the gloss of the good news.
“And the final piece of good news?”
“Well… if you’re prepared not to live like a king — just sensibly — then yes, you can probably retire now.”
By this point it was nearly lunchtime, so I went for a walk to mull over the news. I thought about my life and realised I’m quite a low-maintenance sort of person. Most of the things I enjoy doing are either free or cost very little. I like walking. I like cycling. I like going to the local council gym. If I retire, I could get fitter, meet up with friends that have already retired. I could read books I bought years ago and never got round to. And I’ve got about 400 vinyl LPs from the late 70s and early 80s, mostly punk and new wave, many of which I hadn’t played in decades. That alone could keep me busy for years.
So I went back and told my financial adviser I was done with work. I did admit there were two expensive things I’d always fancied doing. The first was travelling the world — properly travelling. Not just a holiday once a year. I mean every six weeks, somewhere different. He sucked air through his teeth. “Nope. Not happening. Flights, hotels and eating out every night are expensive, you can forget that idea.”
The second was a Porsche 911 Turbo S Cabriolet in lapis blue with stone grey leather interior and the PDK gearbox. Again, he shakes his head. “Have you considered the VW Polo?”. That was that.
I gave up on both ideas and retired. As it turns out, I was wrong about one of them.

Becoming a courier

A few days later, the wife of a good friend knocked on my door to congratulate me on my retirement and to tell me Anthony Nolan were recruiting volunteer couriers and that I’d be perfect for it. I politely declined. I knew from having spoken to her, a volunteer courier herself, that the role comes with a huge amount of responsibility and to be honest, I wanted as little responsibility as possible at the time.
Can you believe that? Loads of people must be desperate to do what we AN couriers do, and I turned her down to settle down to a life of doing nothing.
Now I'm not one to blow my own trumpet but it turns out I was really very good doing nothing. Gym. Walks. Bike rides. Books. Working my way alphabetically through The Adverts, Blondie and The Boomtown Rats. Life was good. But two years in, I’d also started wondering whether this was it. That’s when the wife of my good friend came back and knocked at my door.
“Right,” she said. “You’ve been retired for two years. Anthony Nolan are recruiting again and I’m not taking no for an answer.”
This time, I said yes.

Was she fooled, or was I?

I had a long phone interview with Sarah Rogers in May 2023.
She asked about my background, how often I travelled alone, my proximity to Heathrow, admin skills and the like. When I put the phone down, my wife asked how it went.
“I think she’s looking for someone mature and responsible,” I said.
“Never mind,” my wife replied sympathetically. “I’m sure something more suitable will turn up eventually.”
“Actually,” I said, “I think I may have fooled her into thinking that’s me.”
A few weeks later, I was at training in Anthony Nolan’s head office. Towards the end of the day, Sarah handed round a sample trip list. I assumed it would mostly be UK trips, maybe a few to Germany. Instead: the UK, Europe, the USA, Santiago, Sydney. I thought it must be a trick.
“Is this a typical trip list?” I asked.
“Absolutely.”
“Seriously? We could be going to Chile or Australia?”
“Yes,” she said. “But only if you want to.”
“No, no,” I replied. “I think I can cope with that.”

329,234 miles and counting

And so it’s turned out. My financial advisor was wrong; I have managed to travel the world on a regular basis. At the time of writing, I’ve completed 61 trips for Anthony Nolan, covering 329,234 miles. Not quite to the moon and back — but certainly to the moon and part of the way back.
The shortest trip was from the London Clinic on Harley Street to University College Hospital — about half a mile down Euston Road. The longest was Christchurch, New Zealand to London: a round trip of 23,584 miles. And my favourite stat? Up until the age of 60, I’d been to the USA five times and since then, I’ve been another 19.
There have been good experiences, difficult experiences and plenty of laugh-out-loud moments.

I once had a very memorable encounter with a stem cell donor while waiting in the foyer of the collection centre in Houston, Texas. I was sitting there with the credo box waiting for the cells to be placed inside when a donor who had just finished donating came out. He was about 6'8 tall, huge arm muscles, a 6 pack I could only dream of having, a narrow waist and legs like tree trunks. He has blond hair, piercing blue eyes, and a huge ginger beard. He was basically a Viking Warlord who looks like he's just taking a break from a movie scene, all he needs is the helmet with the horns and the lemming fur waistcoat to complete the image.
He spotted the box and asked excitedly, “Are you transporting stem cells? They might be mine — where are you going?”. I told him I was heading to London. “Ah, not mine,” he said. “You’ll never guess where mine are going.”
“Iceland?” I said. “Or maybe Sweden… or Norway?”
“Wow,” he said. “They are heading to Sweden, how could you possibly have guessed?”
I was stunned. Has he ever looked himself in a mirror? I asked him if he's ever done a family tree, to which he replies that he hasn't. I told him not to bother, his roots are Scandinavian, he's 100% Viking, and that'll be $200. He and his wife laughed.

We chatted for a few minutes before we both went on our way, and it remains one of those wonderfully unexpected moments that seem to happen when you’re doing this role.
The collection from Christchurch was a challenge. It took 7 hours to Dubai, 14 hours to Sydney, then another 3 hours onwards. I spent 2 days in Christchurch before I had to come back to the UK. The cable car to the view over Lyttleton was great, but overall not the best experience.
Would I do it again if asked? In a heartbeat. If I’m free, I’ll go anywhere, anytime. That’s the joy of it.
I tick the trip list when I’m available and I’ll have my preferences, and some of my favourite trips have been to places that don't sound that exciting. Nuremberg is lovely. Milwaukee was fabulous. Kansas City is really nice. San Antonio is beautiful. Anywhere in Switzerland is always a pleasure. Hong Kong is gloriously chaotic. And forget the Taj Mahal, Mannheim station remains my favourite building in the world, the perfect combination of form and function: a huge stone block, a nice arch and a large clock that actually works.
What more could you want from a station?

What's next?

As for the future? Well, my financial adviser was wrong about the travel.
So all I need now is for a billionaire to leave their entire fortune to Anthony Nolan, the charity becomes awash with money, and — as a special thank you to all volunteer couriers — buys each of us a Porsche 911 Turbo S Cabriolet in lapis blue with stone grey leather interior and the PDK gearbox.
I’m not holding my breath.
But you never know.