As my children get older, particularly because they are boys, I find other people - their father included - respond with little or no patience to the damp emotion. In fact, anything non-life-threatening that provokes tears is usually met with a flippant, "What are you crying about now? Big boys don't cry!"
It was nine years ago today that I said goodbye to him for that last time, after making a difficult decision to get on my scheduled flight from Osaka back to Manchester. I did that knowing that I would never see him again. The knowledge of how lucky he was to have her and her care for him is my comfort. And that's all I need.
I have never understood barber etiquette. As I see it, a trip to the barber's is a professional situation - a business transaction, nothing more. I am a man who wants his hair cut. The barber is the man to do it. As long as we are both polite in our dealings, the encounter need not lead to friendship.
My first ever panic attack was at the birth of my son and had never experienced this before in my life. I honestly felt that my wife who I love dearly and my unborn son were going to die. Even many years on I still feel the anxiety I suffered during the twenty two hours labour my wife experienced.
Men's emotions have been a tetchy subject for centuries. Not since the Romantic Era have blokes had the luxury of publicly indulging in their innermost feelings. Alas, if the likes of Lord Byron and William Blake were teenagers today in a London state school, they would probably have 'Bender', 'Fag' and 'Pussy' cruelly scrawled across their lockers.
Anyone who has suffered with BDD, totally irrespective of gender or sexual orientation, faces a civil war between body and mind each and every day. It is a war that cannot be won alone, and what's more, it's a war that many people don't even realise they shouldn't have to be fighting.
So there I was - beer, sofa, TV, and indulging that habit guaranteed to draw looks of disgust and sighs of despair from the fairer sex, but understanding nods of approval from my fellow males. What I didn't realise, was that it was my life in my hands, not just my balls.
The level of culture change that's needed for cyclists to feel safe all the time is dauntingly huge. At best, motorists are telling cyclists, "Yes this is our game, our bat, our ball, our rules - but you can play if you want. We own the road but you can use it. What more do you want?" What needs to happen is a new game, new rules. Power has to change hands. That's still a long way off.
"How could I have prevented it?" It's the question every person asks if their lives have been touched by the death of a loved one who killed themselves. It doesn't matter if you were the distant friend who saw them once a year or the spouse who kissed them goodbye hours before. It haunts your every waking moment. Every last moment is pulled into sharp focus: the last meeting you cancelled, the fight you had, the phone call you didn't make, the I Love You that stayed inside your mouth. My husband Rob passed away from suicide this year, a lost battle against a depression that had gripped him for decades. How could I have prevented it? It is a question I ask myself every day.
I'm sure, like me, you go through times when you wonder what it's all about. Why does so much bad stuff happen? Why is it so difficult for things to just be... good? Why do I feel so miserable? Is there any point carrying on?
No matter how much my exhausted mind tried to move the thought process on they came back to me. Could I really face another day like today? Could I really just go to bed again now and wake up and do it all over again? I could end it. The physical pain, the mental exhaustion, the utter despair and hopelessness I felt could all end.
Although retirement is viewed as an individual experience, it has an enormous impact on marital relationships. In the initial stages of retirement there is a kind of honeymoon period where couples rate their marriages more favorably, they have better sex lives, and feel their relationships have actually improved. It doesn't last.
Since the start of the new millennium our exposure to chiselled arms, shaved chests and sculpted six-packs has been impossible to avoid, as marketing executives the world over latched on to this aesthetic ideal to promote products and sell services.
Like a lot of men I've spoken to since hearing talk of women-only train carriages, I feel genuinely offended. Most men I know are good guys. They are loving sons, brothers, fathers and husbands. They respect women and men alike and try to live life in such a way that doesn't upset, offend or intimidate others. Perhaps better ways to deal with this issue would be to think inclusively, increase sex education in schools and even on the Tube. We should be educating people and letting them know this type of anti-social behaviour is unacceptable and will not tolerated by women or men. We should be teaching respect, inclusivity and tolerance, not segregation.
Whether you are a fan of Jeremy Corbyn or not, it's clear that a pretty serious topic has come to light and it is crucial that we don't allow it to be surpassed and undermined by people using it as an opportunity knock a political candidate down.
I want Brits to be braver with their choice of eyewear instead of stumbling instead of just stumbling into Vision Express for the best 2-1 deal. It doesn't happen that way with our European friends in Germany, France & Holland, where eye-wear is seen as an extension of an individual's identity and thus frames, quite frankly, have more flair and personality.