When I sat down with Simon, he told me that everything really began with a single kung fu programme on 1970s television. What looked like harmless entertainment to most people became, for him, a blueprint for life. At 12 years old he felt instantly hooked — not just by the movement, but by the philosophy behind it: spirituality, discipline, and a quieter kind of power. That spark sent him searching for real training, buying martial arts books and magazines, and eventually joining an after‑school karate club. Listening to him, you’re reminded that motivation often starts with curiosity, then grows through consistent practice and the right mentor.
Mentorship runs right through Simon’s story. He credits his first sensei, Mike Lambert, with shaping not just his technique but his approach to living: be bold, keep learning, and don’t let shyness hold you back. Years of training eventually led to a one‑way ticket to Asia and a long stretch of travel through Japan, Hong Kong, China, Thailand, Malaysia and beyond. What struck me was that he never collected styles like souvenirs — he treated each place as a lesson in agency and self‑direction. His message is simple but powerful: you can choose your path, accept the cost, and still build a stable life later.
What makes Simon’s perspective distinctive is the shift from fighting to internal training. He talks about martial arts as “don’t fight”, pointing to the idea that real skill is shown through avoidance, awareness and presence. That comes into focus through San Shan Gong, his moving meditation built around the “three battles”: mind, body, spirit. He describes the aim as harmonising these parts into something strong and unbreakable, with practices ranging from under a minute to longer forms. For anyone interested in mindfulness, moving meditation, kung fu breathing, or martial arts philosophy, this is genuinely practical: posture, breath, structure, and calm repetition that carries into ordinary life.
And that everyday carryover is where our conversation becomes relatable even if you’ve never stepped into a dojo. We talk about standing on trains, keeping balance without grabbing handholds, and treating planes, buses and daily routines as training. We also compare martial arts reality with film choreography, and why Hollywood often misses the softness, listening and structure at the heart of real practice. From there, things turn more serious: moments of perceived danger, the responsibility that comes with genuine self‑defence capability, and why Simon now chooses a reclusive “temple” life in the Philippines. It leaves you with a question that lingers long after the episode ends: if the goal is peace, what kind of training best supports it?
Longtime Ago people 