Max wasn’t just my friend — he was one of the brightest, boldest, most alive people I’ve ever known. Fit, healthy, only 31, and full of a kind of energy that made everything feel bigger and better when he was around.

When Max started feeling unwell — the headache, the dizziness — I honestly thought he was just overreacting from a hangover the night before. That was Max: dramatic, funny, full of life. I never imagined it could be anything serious. But as things got worse, I took him to hospital, thinking we were being cautious. I thought he’d be checked over and sent home. Nothing prepares you for the moment everything shifts.

The CT scan suggested a burst brain aneurysm, and he was blue‑lighted to St George’s Hospital in Tooting for emergency surgery. The operation went well, but the bleed had caused severe damage. What followed was a long, painful two‑week wait, hoping for signs of improvement that never came.

The MRI changed everything.

It wasn’t an aneurysm.

It was a 5cm x 8cm brain tumour.

Max passed away on 9/11 — a date his friends and family often say he would have found some meaning in, because it’s a date the world will never forget. And neither will we.

The photo above was taken the very day before Max died. We had the best evening — talking about all the amazing things we’d done, all the things we were planning, all the things still ahead. It breaks my heart that he’s not here anymore. I think about him every single day. But he lives in my memory forever, and I carry him with me in everything I do.

Max lived more in 31 years than most people do in a lifetime. He loved the finer things, he built businesses, he created communities, he made every moment feel important. He was a showman, an entrepreneur, the glue in every friendship circle, and one of the most loyal people you could ever hope to meet.

His family created #BeMoreMax — a movement to honour his legacy and raise money for the Brain Tumour Research Campaign (BTRC). They’re funding a fellowship in his name, with the hope of preventing others from going through what Max did. I’m proud to support that, and I’ll be fundraising for BTRC through several events over the next year.

But I’m also running for Mind — because grief and mental health are intertwined. Because losing Max changed me. Because panic attacks, fear, and emotional overwhelm often sit quietly behind the brave faces we show the world. And because talking about how we feel — openly, honestly, without shame — is one of the most powerful things we can do.

Mind helps people who are struggling in silence.

BTRC helps people facing devastating diagnoses.

Both charities matter.

Both charities save lives.

And both charities are part of Max’s story, and mine.

In April 2027, I’ll be running the 10th anniversary London Landmarks Half Marathon. I’m running for Mind, and I’m running in honour of Max. I’m running for the people we’ve lost, the people still fighting, and the people who don’t yet feel able to say “I’m not okay.”

Thank you so much for donating whatever you can.

Your support genuinely makes a difference — and it means the world to me.

And always be more max