The Graft Podcast

Sally Orange broke her leg at 16, her boyfriend went off with her best friend while she was in hospital, and she failed her A-levels twice. It took her six years to get into physiotherapy. The same university that rejected her six times in a row later gave her an honorary doctorate.
She served 22 years in the British Army — hiding a depression that eventually became a suicidal crisis in 2013, and that ultimately led to her medical discharge. What followed was 85 marathons across every continent dressed as fruit and vegetables, an MBE, and £800,000 raised for over 50 charities. Then last year came a breast cancer diagnosis. She told the consultant she hadn't got time for it.
She ran to her chemotherapy sessions. Flew to Portugal mid-treatment for a 50K ultramarathon dressed as a giant boob. Got the other patients in the radiotherapy waiting room dressed as a carrot and a chili pepper. And she's now planning the Great British Boob Run — 650 miles across the UK in 31 days, in a route shaped like a pair of boobs on Strava.

Sally Orange MBE — Army Major, endurance athlete, mental health campaigner

🎧 Listen as we discuss…
(0:00) Introduction — Sally Orange MBE(4:02) Breaking her leg at 16, boyfriend left, and finding physiotherapy in hospital(5:08) Failing A-levels twice — taking six years to get into physio(8:14) Joining the Army — getting in from the reserve list on the day someone dropped out(9:32) The university that rejected her six times — and later gave her an honorary doctorate(11:40) "Not feeling good enough" — the thread that runs through everything(12:05) Years of hidden depression and the suicidal crisis in 2013(25:21) Invictus Games 2016 — and her commanding officer accusing her of cheating(26:43) Medically discharged from the Army after 22 years(28:47) The breast cancer diagnosis — "I haven't got time for cancer"(33:19) Running to chemo — and flying to Portugal mid-treatment for a 50K ultramarathon(34:19) Getting chemo patients dressed as vegetables in the radiotherapy waiting room(36:16) The Great British Boob Run — 650 miles, 31 days, shaped like boobs on Strava(51:34) Our moods are like the weather — Sally's three rules for a low day(56:31) ADHD diagnosed the day before the cancer - and rejection sensitive dysphoria

Key Takeaways:
Not feeling good enough can be the engine, not the obstacle — Sally was rejected, discharged, and knocked back at almost every stage. But the self-doubt that followed her from school to the Army to every start line became the thing that kept her moving forward rather than stopping her.
Movement is medicine — especially on the hardest days — She ran to chemotherapy. She ran during chemo. Not to prove a point, but because movement had always been her anchor. The research backs it up. So does her life.
Talking about it openly changes things for other people — She didn't dress as a giant boob to inspire people. She did it to stay active and have a laugh. The chili pepper who thanked her on his first session, the woman who said her mum died smiling — that's what honesty quietly does.
Early detection changes the outcome — The Great British Boob Run is as much about education as fundraising. Check yourself. Go to your appointments. Sally is living proof that it doesn't have to be a life sentence.

Jamie Moore grew up in Salford with no boxing gym nearby and no obvious way out. A friend rang him at 13 to say one had just opened around the corner — the first night it opened. He went. He stayed for seven years.
He became British, Commonwealth, Irish and European champion — the first fighter from Salford in over 100 years to win a British title. He reached number two in the world. He survived something that had nothing to do with boxing. And when the fighting stopped, he became one of the most respected trainers in British boxing — despite turning the job down every time it was offered.
This conversation covers the streets of Salford, the losses that built him, the moment he was about to quit entirely, and what consistency actually looks like when nobody's watching.

THE GUEST
Jamie Moore — Boxing Trainer & Former British, Commonwealth, Irish & European Champion

🎧 Listen as we discuss…
(0:41) Rocky, Nigel Benn, and no boxing gym nearby(2:23) The gym that opened on its first night — and changed everything(3:29) Getting caught stealing cars at 15(3:51) Delivering beer barrels and building natural strength(4:14) Getting battered by Ricky Hatton at 16 — and what it taught him(6:00) Steve Wood's offer — 9 fights in 12 months as a pro(7:43) Losing his 13th fight — and the lesson in resilience(10:52) What Jamie tells his fighters after a bad spar(14:08) Why he opened an amateur boxing club — and what it's really for(16:46) "Boxing and my wife saved my life"(20:38) Saying no to coaching three times — then saying yes(21:25) Steve Jobs, connecting the dots, and going backwards(44:26) The fighter who surprised him most: Sean McGoldrick(47:56) What graft means: consistency, persistence, and the moment before you quit(48:38) Five days notice. British title fight. Everything changed.

Key Takeaways:
Setbacks are only failures if you stop — Jamie's 13th fight ended in a fifth-round stoppage. He calls it one of the best things that happened to him. What you do with the loss is the whole thing.
You can only connect the dots backwards — Every loss, every beer barrel, every fighter he inherited turned out to be preparation for the job he was supposed to be doing. You can't see the pattern going forwards.
Consistency is the thing nobody talks about — Turning up when it's boring, when you're not gaining momentum, when you can't see the point. That's the bit that separates the ones who make it.
Five days notice. Everything changed — He was nearly done with boxing when a British title fight dropped in his lap. The people who make it aren't always the most talented. They're the ones still standing when the opportunity arrives.

Dennis Field was born in 1923, three miles from Windsor. He served in the Marines during the Second World War. After it ended, he tracked down his eventual wife Joan on his motorbike across post-war Britain — using ration coupons for petrol and a phone book to find her address. They were married for over 67 years.
He broke his neck in his mid-90s. He had cancer. He's 103.
When you ask Dennis the secret to a long life, he doesn't give you a supplement or a morning routine. He says: don't get too involved. Make your decision. Let it go.
This conversation covers 80 years of stories — wartime memories, post-war Liverpool, a court appearance that nearly went very wrong, Churchill, and what it means to still be here with your humour intact. Dennis arrived at a handful of simple ideas about how to live that are easy enough to dismiss and rare enough that almost nobody actually does them.

🎧 Listen as we discuss…
(0:00) Introduction — Dennis Field, 103 years old(1:30) What life felt like during wartime(10:03) Finding Joan — and eventually getting married(11:15) The building trade after the war(17:14) Did people work harder at relationships back then?(20:43) Government, leadership and what's changed(22:15) Winston Churchill — "His word was God. He made the decision. Done."(23:03) The secret to a long and healthy life(24:47) Breaking his neck in his 90s — "It's done. That's the end of it."(28:11) The incident that nearly sent him to prison — and how his war service saved him(35:15) "I started it. I had to finish it." — honesty as a life principle(40:29) Let it go — the real key to long life and long relationships(45:06) "No good arguing. If you can avoid it — avoid it."

Key Takeaways:
Don't get too involved — Dennis's answer to the secret of a long life isn't a diet or a routine. It's a principle: don't spend energy on things you can't change. Arguments, grudges, other people's problems. Let them go in and come out the other side. He's been doing it for 102 years.
Make your decision and stick to it — Dennis's admiration for Churchill isn't political. It's practical. A leader who says something and does it. In Dennis's view, most modern problems — in government, in business, in relationships — come from people changing their minds too often and following through too rarely.
Once it's done, it's done — He broke his neck in his mid-90s. He had cancer detected in his 70s. His response to both, and to most hard things in life, is the same: it's done. That's the end of it. No good moaning. Move forward with what you've got.
If you start something, finish it — Dennis tells a story from after the war that nearly ended very differently. His conclusion isn't regret. It's that he started it, so he had to see it through. Honesty, however uncomfortable, is cleaner than the alternative.

Ian Carter was 57 when he noticed something was wrong. The anxiety about seeing his golf mates. The mistakes at work he'd never made before. The arguments he couldn't stop starting. By 2024 it was confirmed: frontal temporal dementia. A condition, as Ian puts it, that doesn't kill you. It changes you.
He fell into the void between diagnosis and deterioration — a gap the NHS has almost nothing to fill. He didn't want triangle sandwiches and a tambourine. So he started his own group.
No Tier Snooker began with three members and one loved one in January 2025. It now has a sold-out event at Congleton Town Hall with Steve Davis and Dennis Taylor recreating the most watched frame of snooker in television history — 220 tickets gone in eight days — raising money for dementia charities.
This is a conversation about digging yourself out of the trench and finding something to build. And what it means to build something you know, one day, you'll have to leave.

Listen as we discuss...
(1:00) "I was a normal 57 year old. I thought I was just getting old."(2:00) The early signs — anxiety, behavioural changes, work mistakes(4:50) The diagnosis: frontal temporal dementia(6:45) Why he left a successful business to become a lorry driver(9:20) How FTD flips familiarity — strangers feel safer than old friends(12:55) The prognosis — FTD doesn't kill you. It changes you.(18:20) His wife — and how to care for someone who may not care back(21:00) The decision not to tell the kids yet(25:45) In the trench — and what pulled him out(27:30) Starting No Tier Snooker(31:05) "I won't have the word carer in the club. They're loved ones."(33:20) Steve Davis, Dennis Taylor, and the 1985 final(44:20) Steve and Dennis — one more time, for Ian's club(46:20) 220 tickets. Sold out in eight days.(52:50) The NHS and social prescribing(54:00) "Understanding is the most powerful tool."(58:05) "At some point I'm going to leave my own club."

KEY TAKEAWAYS
The void between diagnosis and deterioration is the gap nobody fills — The NHS has provision for when dementia progresses. It has almost nothing for the period in between. That's where No Tier Snooker lives, and where the most important support work happens.
FTD doesn't kill you — it changes you — Understanding the specific condition is what makes a difference. Not generic dementia awareness. The anxiety, the familiarity problem, the impulsive decisions — these aren't personality flaws. They're the condition.
Understanding is the most powerful medicine — Not love, not sympathy. If the people around you understand the condition, they become your strongest support. If they don't, even love can't bridge the gap.
Build something you'll have to leave anyway — Ian knows the condition will progress. He's building No Tier Snooker knowing it will keep going without him. That's not sad to him. That's the whole point.

THE GUEST
Ian Carter - Founder, No Tier Snooker

Tim Heatley was fired from every retail job he ever had, failed at being a lawyer, and sold his mates' artwork at university rather than get a part-time job. Then he bought a derelict house for less than it would cost to rebuild — and something clicked.

Tim is co-founder of Capital & Centric. They spend £3–4 million a week repurposing abandoned buildings and forgotten town centres — and unlike most developers, they never sell what they build. They stay, operate, and build communities from the inside out.

This conversation covers where the drive came from — free school meals, a dad who lost his job, Irish immigrant grandparents who grafted — and how that became a philosophy built entirely around things other people had written off. Plus working with councils, why the doubters always go quiet when the building fills up, and the nonprofit getting 2,000 young people a year into well-paid built environment careers.

🎧 Listen as we discuss…
(0:00) Introduction — Tim Heatley, failed lawyer, property developer(4:15) From free school meals to spending £3–4 million a week(7:17) Why the outsider sees potential the locals can't(13:46) How communities heal themselves from the inside out(17:00) The reality of working with councils (20:44) The danger of maintain the status quo (23:51) Why Capital & Centric never sells what it builds(26:40) Favourite and worst parts of the job(33:27) Favourite project (33:49) Why social impact is non-negotiable(37:59) Regeneration Brainery — inspiring young people(38:16) Inspirational not educational(40:33) What graft means to Tim Heatley

KEY TAKEAWAYS
The overlooked thing is always the opportunity — From student artwork to derelict cars to abandoned town centres, Tim's entire career has been built on the same instinct: find what other people have written off and see what it could become.
Maintain the status quo means going backwards without realising it — Towns and councils that focus purely on not making mistakes are quietly declining. Progress requires someone willing to take political or commercial risk.
Never selling what you build changes everything — Capital & Centric retains and operates everything they create. When you have to live with the thing you built, you build it differently.
The doubters always go quiet — Scepticism, then denial, then silence once the building is full. They never come back and say they were wrong.
Diversity of background isn't a nice-to-have in regeneration, it's the whole point — If your team can't relate to the community you're trying to regenerate, you can't do the job.

Tim Heatley — Co-Founder, Capital & Centric🌐 capitalandcentric.com📸 Instagram: @timheatley / @capitalandcentric