From adversity
to advocacy.
I grew up with a violent, abusive father. The blueprint I was handed — for what a man is, what a home is, what love is — was fear. At seventeen I left, and I was homeless — sleeping in a tent in a park in South Wales. I fell through the system with no safety net, and was taken in by an elderly couple. Informal care, though no one called it that. I was, in every way that mattered, one of the children Sanctuary now exists to help.
Everything after that, I had to teach myself.
How to process trauma instead of passing it on. How to handle money, starting from nothing. How to be a husband and a father who is the opposite of what was modelled to me. How to build a whole life from scratch. There was no one to show me — so I learned it the hard way, alone, over thirty years.
I trained in jujitsu to master my own strength rather than inflict it. I gave thirty years to charity — the Samaritans, Crisis shelters every Christmas, chairing Journeyman UK, founding a support group that still runs today. I spent twenty years as a management consultant and twenty as a landlord. And I built a family that is safe — the achievement I am proudest of.
My son Arun is neurodiverse. Watching the system fail him — and fighting for the right support — showed me, up close, what the right environment does for a child. My wife Popi, a physiotherapist of 22 years, whose clinical insight and unwavering support have shaped Sanctuary from the beginning.
Sanctuary is where all of it converges.
It is not a pivot. It is an arrival.
That arrival comes with a discipline. I create the home — the planning, the consents, the capital, the refurbishment — and then I step back. Thirty years taught me how to help; they also taught me that the care itself belongs to the people trained to give it. Sanctuary exists to carry the weight an operator should never have to hold — the property, the planning risk, the overhead — so they can do the work that actually matters.
I am not here to extract from this sector, and I am not passing through it. Two strangers once did the unglamorous, generous thing for a homeless seventeen-year-old who could give them nothing back.
I intend to keep doing it for as long as I am able.
An operator who works with me is not betting on a developer who discovered care homes were a yield. They are working with someone who was that child.