Newsletters

✨ New Clubs for the New Year!
We’re thrilled to launch two brilliant after-school clubs to kick off 2026 with a splash of fun, flavour and fitness!

• Story Sport is back! SOme of you with children long left us,  will remember this fantastic club from years ago—before its founder Scot left to pursue new adventures. Now it’s back where it belongs—at St George’s! Story Sport blends physical activity with imagination, using storytelling and multi-skill games to develop kids’ confidence, coordination and creativity. It’s open to Reception, Year 1 and Year 2 and runs every Wednesday morning, starting 7th January, for 6 weeks. Book via Scopay.

• Cook Stars is a brand-new cooking club running after school, right here at St George’s. Although the booking link shows Mossy Lea (for admin reasons), all sessions are held at St George’s. Kids will get stuck into hands-on cooking, learning real recipes, measuring, mixing and creating something delicious each week to take home. It’s a fabulous way to develop life skills—with a sprinkle of fun! Booking details are on the flyer.

Both clubs are a brilliant way to bring in the New Year with something fresh, engaging and skill-building. Let’s cook up a storm and get moving!

And, if I may quietly and humbly share something personal, I’ve recently been appointed an Honorary Lay Canon of Blackburn Cathedral, with the formal installation taking place in March. Before I say anything else, it may be worth speaking first about my journey of faith which may offer reassurance to others, perhaps? My faith has never been neat, linear, or particularly saintly. It has zig-zagged, paused, stumbled, restarted, and, at times, felt like trying to navigate with a compass that had ideas of its own. Yet, even in the most turbid seasons, there has always been a quiet pull towards service, community, and that gentle nudge that says, “Keep going.”

But there was a moment when that compass stopped completely. When Sue died eight years ago, my faith didn’t just dip — it emptied. It wasn’t anger; it was absence. A silence so large it swallowed the things I thought I knew. And for a long time, I didn’t try to rebuild it. I couldn’t.

Slowly — almost imperceptibly — faith returned. Not in trumpets or revelation, but in the compassion of others, the steady rhythm of school life, and the simple, grounding acts of kindness that arrive when you need them most. What grew back wasn’t the same structure I’d had before; it was gentler, humbler, more honest. A faith shaped by loss, patched together by grace, and anchored by the belief that hope still matters.

That’s why this canonship feels profoundly humbling and quietly uplifting. It marks a sort of full circle — not a triumphant one, but a tender, faithful one. My late dad and Sue — who many of our families won’t have known — shaped the person I try, falteringly, to be, and pride will be oozing from them upon this news.  Their influence sits behind every decision, every act of service, and every attempt to lead with compassion rather than arrogant certainty.

This honour isn’t really mine alone. It reflects the heartbeat of our community, the staff who graft daily, and the kids who bring light even on the rainiest of days. As Psalm 37:23 puts it, “The Lord makes firm the steps of the one who delights in Him.” My steps have rarely been firm — more like determined ambling — but they’ve always been guided.

And for that, I’m quietly grateful.