Articles from February 2025

As I picked the photograph off the desk, my heart stopped.

There were seven of us in it – but I suddenly realised, within five years of it being taken, only three of us were still alive.

It was taken in the summer of 1989, at the end of an AIDS conference we had been attending. We had our arms around each other, all smiling and ready for a big night out.

The picture was old and a little blurry, but filled with life.

It was February 2025 and I was at the Bishopsgate Institute in London. I looked up at the others who, like me, were sorting through photos from the past 40 years of the HIV epidemic stored in the archive of the Terrence Higgins Trust.

In the calm and quiet, there were gasps of recognition of faces remembered, followed by a struggle to connect names, places and events.

We were young when AIDS began to devastate our generation – and all of us in the room that day had volunteered or worked for Terrence Higgins Trust in the early years of the epidemic. We had been fighting for our lives while creating a dynamic range of services supporting those who were getting sick and dying.

Now in our 60s and 70s, we’re helping preserve that history by sifting through photos, identifying the faces of those who led the community response to the virus and the prejudice, hostility, and fear that surrounded it.

So many faces which, unlike ours, had not had the chance to get old.

Many of us there that day had journeyed a long way to arrive at Terrence Higgins Trust.

As a gay teenager in the early 1970s, homosexuality was completely hidden where I lived in West Somerset, and only a little less hidden at the university I attended – Keele, in the countryside near Stoke-on-Trent. Which at least had the benefit of leaving me plenty of time to concentrate on my degree.

It was only when I moved to London in 1978 that I made my first gay friends, came out to my family and fell in love.

While I’d been a very happy teenager, coming out felt like my world changed from monochrome into glorious technicolour, vibrant and full of potential.

In the early 1980s, I moved to Amsterdam, the gay capital of Europe and an oasis of tolerance in an otherwise hostile world.

The bars and clubs were fabulous, but by 1984 the dark cloud of AIDS had begun to cover the sky, and I returned to London. I was angry there was so little concern about the growing number of AIDS deaths amongst gay men; and I realised, if anything was to be done, we would have to do it ourselves.

Terrence Higgins Trust was the first UK HIV organisation, set up in memory of Welshman and Heaven DJ Terry Higgins, one of the first to die from AIDS-related illnesses in 1982.

By 1985 Terrence Higgins Trust was able to advertise for two full-time members of staff. I was appointed office administrator, alongside Janet Green as counselling administrator.

We had two small rooms, rented by the week, in a ramshackle office warehouse, just off the Gray’s Inn Road. One room housed the Helpline and Buddy service – the other, everything else. Around 300 volunteers worked in groups focused on health education, social services, legal services, drug education, communications and fundraising.

The next eleven years were a rollercoaster ride of activism, passion, growth, success, failure, funerals, hopes raised and dashed, bravery, courage, determination, burn-out and resilience as we struggled to contain the ever-growing epidemic.

Then, in 1996, a new combination of drugs was shown to control the virus.  At last, we could look forward to living with HIV, however difficult that might be, rather than dying from it.

This was too late for so many people, though.

The breakthrough was announced in July 1996, in Vancouver, Canada. During that conference, Paul – the handsome, talented, man who ran our Hardship Fund – died in London. It was only eight months after he had first become ill. AIDS could be terrifyingly fast.

He was just 29 years old.

I led his funeral: amid the swirling emotions of sadness, loss and grief, there was also real hope for a better future.

Now, gathered in the Bishopsgate Institute that day in February, around the tables overflowing with photographs and memories, we are some of those who have lived to see that future.

In 2025, over half of people living with HIV take one pill a day. With that treatment, they can expect to live as long as anyone else, and cannot pass on the virus to others if their viral load is undetectable – even during sex.

The UK is committed to ending new HIV cases by 2030. Hard fought campaigns have succeeded in delivering effective medication to people living with HIV in some of the world’s poorest countries – although progress is fragile, as the recent freeze on US foreign aid has shown.

As we put the photos back into their folders, I knew this was still an incomplete archive of Terrence Higgins Trust. I imagined what it might feel like in ten, twenty, thirty, or more years’ time, when we’ve finally ended this epidemic and the stigma that so many people living with HIV still face.

We have come this far and achieved so much. One day we will be able to fully close the archive – but I will still remember the faces from the photographs of those we lost.

Do you have a story you’d like to share? Get in touch by emailing jess.austin@metro.co.uk. 

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I was volunteering at George House Trust – a charity which offers support to people living with HIV – cataloguing their archive, when I reached for a large black leather album.

I could feel the tears welling up as I flicked the pages to the one I was looking for.

There it was. The words ‘To be remembered’…Paul Higson. Born 31.8.68. Died 01.11.96, and a photo of a smiling young man.

Just one entry in a memorial book for people who died of AIDS.

As I read those words, surrounded by boxes of reports, photos, memorabilia and meeting minutes, the memories flooded back – from nearly 30 years ago, but strong as ever.

Such joy and happiness; pain and loss.

I first met Paul in 1992, when I was 29 and a student at Sheffield Hallam University. He was visiting a friend who’d told me Paul needed cheering up; he’d just found out he was HIV positive.

The three of us met at a club. By the end of the night, our mutual friend had disappeared, leaving Paul stranded – so he came home with me.

We talked until the sun rose, constantly laughing as he made jokes and sang along to the music that was playing. By the morning I felt I knew everything about him: His love of music and cars, his work at an accountancy firm, and his family.

But behind the carefree façade I could see there was also a frightened young man whose world had been turned upside down.

When I hugged him goodbye I didn’t want to let go. We swapped numbers and spoke daily on the phone until he came to visit me from Lancashire the following weekend – a routine that then carried on for a year.

Being with Paul just felt right. I’d found my soulmate.

I moved to Manchester to do a Masters – but then Paul started having health problems.

First, Paul had several seizures, which meant he could not drive for six months and had to take additional medication, in addition to his preventative medication, as his immune system started to weaken.

He started a course to complete his accountancy exams but after a few months his health got worse with night sweats, sickness and diarrhoea, leaving him weak and losing weight.

I picked him up and brought him back to live with me in Manchester.

Weeks passed with no improvement and he became thinner and weaker, eventually needing a wheelchair when we went out.

By this point, I’d given up my studying to care for Paul. His sister, Linda, was a great support but lived in Canada and his widowed mother would not have been able to cope with the illness – so it was up to me and there was no way I would ever let him down.

He was my world.

There were regular stays on the infectious diseases ward at North Manchester hospital. The terrace house I was renting was unsuitable for Paul’s needs so Body Positive, a Manchester HIV charity, helped to get us a flat in Hulme.

By November 1995 it looked like the stomach infection that was causing his illness – an opportunistic infection that took advantage of the suppressed immune system – was going to kill him.

With little left to lose, doctors put him on a large dose of drugs – and the results were incredible. Within a few months Paul had put on weight and all symptoms had gone. It was like a miracle.

Paul visited Linda in Canada and she rang me in tears saying, ‘I don’t believe it – I’ve got my brother back.’

I started work and life got back to normal. But the bug causing Paul’s illness slowly became resistant to the treatments and started to return.

SIx months later, he was back to how he had been.

This time, I continued working while caring for Paul, as he had support from two ‘befrienders’ – Paul from Body Positive and Barbara from George House – who visited regularly and provided emotional support.

Along with the team at North Manchester hospital and a home help, they helped us to cope; soon I was lucky to get four hours of sleep at night, what with changing bedding wet from Paul’s night sweats and helping him to the bathroom.

At lunch, I’d come home to help Paul get out of bed, shower and dress. Evenings were spent doing laundry, cleaning and preparing his medicine for the following day.

The only time I had for myself was at a weekly group for HIV-negative partners run by George House Trust volunteers that provided support from others who were going through the same things.

Eventually Paul was so weak a feeding tube was inserted into his chest to provide nutrition, and I was taught by nurses how to administer it along with all his other drugs.

By this point, Paul was a shadow of his former self but his humour always shone through.

The treatment seemed to work and his health improved – until he became unwell again and, this time, was diagnosed with an E.coli infection.

The feeding tube was removed in case it was the infection site.

When Paul told the consultant that he didn’t want the feeding tube replaced, because he didn’t want to go on like this and it just seemed to be delaying the inevitable, there was a strange sense of relief for both of us.

Without any nutrition, Paul would have about three weeks left to live – but the rollercoaster of illnesses followed by slow recovery would be over.

There’d be time for tears later but there were three weeks to pack with memories first.

Having come off treatment, Paul was started on palliative care, including regular doses of morphine administered through a syringe driver, and we returned home.

Initially, there was a relief from symptoms and the first week we went out daily – but by the second week Paul was too weak. So many people came to visit and say goodbye: Physiotherapists, nutritionists and social workers, as well as friends and family.

Paul died at home on 1st November 1996 with me and Linda lying by his side.

He was 28 years old.

The situation now is so different with effective HIV treatment. Paul was so unlucky that these treatments were not available in time for him.

I often think about what Paul would have achieved if he had not died so young. AIDS took so much talent, so many wonderful people from us.

I now work for the Passionate about Sexual Health (PaSH) Partnership: A collaboration between BHA for Equality (formerly Black Health Agency), the LGBT Foundation and the George House Trust, which offers support to those living with HIV and which aims to help end HIV transmission within a generation.

Caring for and losing a partner to any disease is devastating but the stigma and fear around HIV in the 1990s made it particularly intense and probably brought Paul and I closer together.

I treasure the memories I have of Paul – and count myself lucky to have people in my life who also remember him.

Do you have a story you’d like to share? Get in touch by emailing jess.austin@metro.co.uk. 

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Depressed. Isolated. Disconnected.

These were the main things my patient, Seamus*, was feeling when he came to me for help in February last year.

As a GP I see my fair share of patients and treat all manner of physical and mental ailments.

Mostly though, I listen. That’s what helps me get to the root cause of a problem.

That’s why, when Seamus explained to me that he and his wife had recently separated – leaving him alone and living miles away from his kids – I knew it was unlikely any medication would help in the long run. But I knew something that could.

‘Have you tried parkrun?’ I suggested with a smile. And a confused Seamus shook his head.

Parkrun first launched in 2004 but has since grown to have a huge following across the UK.

Every Saturday at 9am, in public open spaces across the country, a group of volunteers put on a free 5K walk, jog or run.

And in my personal opinion, these runs are the perfect prescription for patients – even I’ve benefitted.

Now, a poll of 2,000 people has found that 65% agree with me, and 51% believe prescribed parkrun could reduce pressures on the NHS.

My first run in (if you’ll pardon the pun) with the organisation came in 2016. I was 25-years-old, overweight, sedentary, had little work-life balance and was eventually diagnosed with fatty liver disease.

As there is no specific medication to treat this condition (only pills to manage the problems that occur as a result), my only choice was to make healthy lifestyle changes. That’s when a colleague suggested parkrun to me.

Attending my first event at Leamington Spa one Saturday in October 2018 was nerve wracking. I hadn’t run any distance for seven or eight years, and I’d never completed a 5K before, so I was braced for a serious challenge.

To my surprise, the first 400m felt amazing. The joy of running, jogging and walking alongside others was incredible and I felt myself enjoying it. But then the exhaustion began to set in.

My legs soon felt heavier, my breathing became laboured and I started to slow down – I even recall being passed by those twice my age and even some pushing buggies.

Had it not been for my wife, who was by my side the whole way, I would have called it quits. But I’m thankful I didn’t, because as I reached the end, there were swarms of people cheering me on as I plodded through the finish funnel.

It really was such a buzz to have so many people, so many strangers, supporting you. And it was that moment, that community feel, which made me want to come back and commit to a healthier lifestyle.

Soon I’d committed to an event each week, which then encouraged me to start making small changes in other areas of my life. I began eating better, adjusting my work day to move more regularly and slowly it transformed my health.

I felt healthier and more confident and like a whole new person. Now all I wanted to do was tell more people about it.

So when, in 2018, parkrun launched its ‘Practice Initiative’ – which aimed to foster engagement among both staff and patients of GP surgeries – I was keen to get involved.

I started by leaving the parkrun magazine in the waiting area of my surgery, then I encouraged other members of my practice to ‘take over’ one of the Saturday sessions – meaning everyone from myself to the receptionists filled the volunteer roles.

By doing this at my own surgery I witnessed the benefits for both our patients and community first-hand. My patients had improved menopausal symptoms, diabetic control and those that started attending parkrun with us seemed to be coping better when it came to mental health in general.

And now, I’m the Royal College of GPs physical activity lead, which sees me support other surgeries to become parkrun practices.

Personally, I’d love all GP surgery’s to get involved and I can’t help but wonder how many lives could be helped by prescribing parkrun as a course of treatment.

We already know that physical inactivity contributes to as many deaths as smoking in the UK, yet we are 20% less active than in the 1960s and around 26% of men and 27% of women are classed as sedentary.

Physical activity has been shown to play a significant role in the prevention and management of over 20 chronic illnesses, including: type 2 diabetes, cardiovascular disease, depression and certain cancers – all of which are on the rise.

As a GP I often see patients who have more than one health problem and, in many cases physical activity can help tackle more than one issue. So why wouldn’t I prescribe it?

It’s also zero cost and has no side effects, unlike medications, so to me, it’s a no brainer really.

We regularly prescribe parkrun at our surgery and have done so to hundreds of patients, including Seamus.

While not all patients take this prescription seriously – we, of course, continue to work with those people on barriers they face to physical activity and treat them in other ways – those that do have never once given negative feedback.

Even in Seamus’s case, though he was, understandably, perplexed at first, I knew it could be a way to help him connect with the community and that the physical activity itself could help his mood.

Of course, we agreed that if he did not find parkrun helpful, he could come back to me and we could revisit the medication discussion. But he never did.

Instead, we regularly bump into each other at parkrun events – where we have a catch up.

And he has since told me that connecting with others in the community has made a real difference to improving his mental health. I second that.

I always feel welcome, well supported and have met incredible people from all walks of life and volunteering is equally rewarding.

Perhaps one of the most rewarding aspects of my work though is seeing patients like Seamus at parkrun and witnessing the joy and the benefits they get from it and the friendships they have formed.

As a nation we need to get more active and with 1,247 events around the UK, there’s plenty of opportunities to get involved. It doesn’t matter if you’re a patient or a practitioner, a runner or not, you will be welcome at parkrun.

I believe in the benefits, and that anyone can do it. So I guess I’ll see you at the starting line soon?

A version of this piece was originally published in June 2024

Do you have a story you’d like to share? Get in touch by emailing Ross.Mccafferty@metro.co.uk. 

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Some lucky people will find themselves out like a light as soon as their head hits the pillow at night.

Others will be tossing and turning, replaying the day’s events, counting sheep and watching the hours tick away as they struggle to fall asleep.

Thankfully there are tips and hacks aplenty to practice better sleep health, and handy trick might be just what you need.

Have you tried to, just stay up? We know it sounds totally counter-intuitive but it seems there is method in the madness.

A technique called paradoxical intention has been in the works since the 1930s, usually used to treat anxiety disorders, but it can also be utilised for better sleep – you just have to tell yourself you’re not falling asleep and not put any pressure on yourself to drift off.

Paradoxical intention is an accepted psychological technique for treating insomnia. It was first named by the Psychologist Victor Frankl in 1939. He believed to treat anxiety we need to face the fear of whatever it is that is making us anxious.

As well as anxiety and insomnia, the technique is also used to treat OCD, anorexia and many different phobias.

For insomnia, the theory is that when we get into bed and try to go to sleep, the pressure of trying to sleep, causes anxiety. This switches on the sympathetic nervous system (SNS) – the body’s ‘fight, fright and flight system’ which is the response needed for the body to flee from danger.

The anxiety of trying to sleep then puts you on high alert, something that isn’t helped if you keep glancing at the clock. However, you can lull yourself into a sleep by telling yourself to do the opposite.

We spoke to Dr Deborah Lee, sleep expert from Doctor Fox, who tells us about how to practice paradoxical intention, and activate your PSNS instead of the SNS nervous system.

Dr Lee tells Metro: ‘If you get into bed and tell yourself you must stay awake, funnily enough the opposite happens, and the parasympathetic pathway (PSNS,) the body’s main rest and relaxation pathway is activated.

‘The PSNS is the dominant autonomic nervous system in operation when we sleep. Your natural sleep drive takes over and you find yourself falling asleep.

‘The key principle is that you need to be convinced that it’s fine to be lying there awake and that sleep will come. If you don’t buy into the exercise, it won’t work.’

While more tests need to be carried out, in 2002 a study concluded that paradoxical intention was better at reducing sleep-related anxiety than other passive methods of trying to induce sleep. In some studies, the effects of paradoxical intention on insomnia led to large improvements in insomnia symptoms.

Dr Lee notes that there a myriad of reasons why someone may be having trouble dozing off and that it’s worth interrogating what these are. She also warns that paradoxical intention alone might not be enough, as you’ll also need to be practicing good sleep health.

‘Sleep and falling asleep are complex,’ she explains. ‘Many of us are kept awake by all sorts of issues such as noise, overheating, an uncomfortable bed, night-time allergies and worrisome thoughts.

‘Paradoxical intention can’t fix everything! It’s only likely to work if you practise good sleep hygiene, with all these variables corrected, and a set bedtime and getting up time.’

But given that the brain is so powerful, you could run the risk of manifesting the assertion that you won’t fall asleep and end up staying up.

The expert adds that while you might not get the technique right straight away, don’t put pressure on yourself and don’t give up – come back to it.

‘Learning to control our thoughts is a crucial part of going to sleep. By facing up to what we dread, we are normalising the situation. Each time we go through it, it feels a little less frightening.

‘Paradoxical intention is not a quick fix and it works little by little, over time. If you find it isn’t working, go back to basics and address all the key issues for sleep hygiene. Work on increasing your natural sleep drive by not napping during the day, taking exercise during the day and going to bed a bit later when you feel tired.’

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