Food in my home works a lot like food in a survival game: it doesn’t need to be fancy, it just needs to keep everyone alive long enough to face whatever chaos tomorrow brings.

• The Hearty One – the kind of meal that hits like a max-calorie stew in The Long Dark. Warm, filling, and ideal for days when the weather—or life—gets dramatic.
• The Quick One – real-world equivalent of realising you forgot to bring food in Subnautica and you’re too far from the lifepod to care. Fast, simple, reliable.
• The “How Did This Turn Out So Good?” One – the wildcard. No expectations, no guarantees, but somehow it ends up being the favourite thing of the week.

Nothing Michelin-starred. Nothing that reveals anything personal. Just the everyday fuel that keeps the Survivor Incognito camp going—one plate at a time.

If I could meet any historical figure, I’d choose someone whose work still shapes the world long after they’re gone—one of those thinkers or explorers who pushed boundaries before anyone realised the map even had edges.

Not to ask big philosophical questions or rewrite history. Just to see what made them keep going when the world around them wasn’t built to support what they were trying to do. That mindset fascinates me—the people who kept pushing forward because stopping wasn’t an option.

It wouldn’t matter which era they came from. I’d just want to hear how they handled uncertainty, how they navigated limits, and how they kept their sense of direction when everything was stacked against them.

That kind of perspective is worth more than any autograph.

Most of the time, yes. Instinct usually shows up before the overthinking does, and it tends to be the part of me that actually knows what it’s talking about. Whether it’s a real-life decision or a split-second call in a survival game, that first gut feeling is usually the one that keeps things steady.

I’m not perfect at listening to it. Sometimes I second-guess myself or try to logic my way around something that already felt wrong. Every time I do that, it turns into a reminder that my instincts were trying to save me a trip down the more painful route.

So I try to follow that internal alarm more often than not. It doesn’t make life easier, but it makes things clearer—and clarity is something you don’t waste when you’re trying to survive anything, digital or otherwise.

October and December are easily my favourites, but for completely different reasons.

October feels like the world shifts into the right gear. Cooler weather, early sunsets, and that perfect atmosphere for anything spooky or survival-themed. It’s the one month where the chaos in my games lines up with the chaos outside, and it just… fits.

December is different. It’s colder, quieter, and everything slows down a bit. Even when life is busy, the month itself has this steady rhythm to it. Lights go up, routines soften, and the year winds down in a way that feels controlled instead of overwhelming.

Together, they balance each other out—one full of energy, the other full of calm. Perfect combo.

I don’t really have a favourite place in the city. Nothing against cities, but they’ve never been where I feel most like myself. I’m far more at home on the edges—where the noise drops, the crowds thin out, and you can actually hear the wind instead of traffic.

If I get the choice, I’ll always head for the spots just outside the urban mess. Give me open space, quiet paths, and a bit of wilderness over concrete any day. It’s the same energy that drives my survival games: less chaos from people, more chaos from nature.

That’s where I tend to feel grounded. Not hidden away—just somewhere with room to breathe.

I want people to see someone who stays level even when things get messy. Someone who listens, thinks things through, and keeps situations from escalating. A calm, capable first impression helps everything else run smoother. If that’s what comes across, I’m happy with it.