Next week, something very special is happening.

I'll be standing pitchside at Twickenham, or as it’s called today, The Allianz Stadium. The home of English rugby. The stadium I grew up watching on television. The place I've travelled to countless times with friends and family. A place filled with memories, victories, disappointments and stories. I've sat in those stands as a supporter. I've sung the anthem. I've watched heroes emerge from the tunnel. I've celebrated. I've commiserated.

And now, somehow, I find myself being invited back to host an evening there.

Life can be wonderfully strange sometimes.

What excites me most isn't the stadium itself, though. It's what we're going there to do.

Twickenham was built for battle. It's a modern coliseum. A place where bodies are put on the line. Where blood is shed in defence of the rose. Where courage is tested and legends are made. Few places feel more masculine.

And yet, on this particular evening, we'll be using that same patch of grass for something entirely different.

Five fires will burn pitchside. Tomahawks will cook over glowing coals. Smoke will drift across the turf. Men will gather together. Not to compete. Not to prove themselves. Not to win.

Simply to talk. To reflect. To connect. To celebrate being fathers. I love the juxtaposition of that.

A stadium built for strength, hosting conversations about vulnerability.

A place known for collisions, creating space for connection.

A reminder that being a man has never been about choosing one or the other. It is possible to be both.

Strong and soft.Protective and present. Resilient and sensitive.

The best men I've met have always carried both. The world often asks men to wear armour. This evening is about creating an environment where they don't have to. Because I've learned that vulnerability isn't usually about courage. It's about permission. When one person goes first, others follow. When one person tells the truth, others feel safe enough to do the same. And before long, strangers become friends. 

That's what we're hoping to create. A modern campfire. The sort of gathering humans have been creating for thousands of years. Long before stadiums. Long before social media. Long before any of the distractions we fill our lives with today.

Just people, gathered around fire, sharing stories and passing wisdom from one generation to the next.

Which brings me to the part I'm looking forward to most.

You'll be there. And so will Grandad. Three generations standing together. Your Grandad. Your Dad. And you. Three men connected by a red ribbon.

The lessons Grandad passed to me. The values he tried to teach. The things he got right. The things he learned the hard way.

All of it flowing downstream. Through me. And towards you.

I often wonder what parts of him live inside me. And what parts of me will live inside you. Perhaps that's what fatherhood really is.

Not building a legacy. But becoming one. Carrying forward the things worth keeping. Leaving behind the things that no longer serve us. And passing the baton on with a little more wisdom than we received it.

As I stand beside those fires next Thursday, June 18th, I suspect that thought will be close to my heart.

Because when I look around that stadium, I'll see much more than rugby. I'll see all the things I love gathered in one place.

Storytelling.

Food cooked over fire.

Friendship.

Adventure.

Community.

Family.

Fatherhood.

And you.

What a privilege it is to bring those worlds together.

What a privilege it is to be your dad.

Always,

A small invitation.

I’ve reserved five places at Around The Fire for fathers from the Letters to Leo community.

If you'd like to join us for an evening of conversation, connection and exceptional food at Twickenham, please email:

[email protected]

Places will be allocated on a first-come, first-served basis.

I look forward to seeing you there.