John Nickolls: A Life Less Beige"

A 3000-word dose of truth, grit, and just the right amount of sarcasm

Let me take you on a journey. Not one of those neatly trimmed, Disneyfied paths filled with spiritual awakenings and yoga retreats in Bali. No, this is the story of Andrew John Nickolls. A Staffordshire-born HGV-driving, drone-flying, bread-baking, techno-loving, campervan-cruising, ex-haulier who’s seen more breakdowns — both vehicular and existential — than a Kwik Fit mechanic in a heatwave.

It’s not your typical rags-to-riches story. It’s rags-to-different-rags-but-in-better-fabric. It's not curated for Instagram, though ironically, it looks bloody brilliant on Instagram — @johnnickolls, by the way. Hit that follow button like it owes you money.

Chapter 1: Born in the Sixties, Raised on Grit

Born on June 7, 1963 — the same year the Beatles released Please Please Me, and yes, I do find that ironically prophetic — John came into the world like a well-aimed dart: sharp, pointed, and destined to lodge himself somewhere unforgettable.

Raised in Staffordshire, in a time before iPads, NutriBullets, and gluten anxiety, John was built tough. Life was Scouts and scraped knees, holidays on ocean-going yachts, and hands-on experience in the art of "not dying" while camping in the pissing rain. Weekends? Camps. Hobbies? Survival. Role model? Ray Mears would’ve eaten his own arm to have John’s stories.

Chapter 2: The Navy: Not Just a Career, a Rite of Passage

After school, where John likely learned more from outside the classroom than inside it, he did what every adventure-hungry lad in the '80s with a pulse and a stubborn streak did — he joined the Royal Navy.

Let’s not romanticise this. It wasn’t Top Gun. It wasn’t sun-kissed Mediterranean ports and cold lagers on deck (well… sometimes). It was grit, salt, responsibility, and the kind of discipline that Instagram “life coaches” wouldn’t last five minutes in. It was real. It shaped him. It taught him that “sink or swim” isn’t just a saying — it’s a job description.

And when he left? He took those lessons, tattooed them to his soul, and cracked on.

Chapter 3: Wheels of Industry (And Actual Wheels)

John didn’t roll into a swanky office job with a latte machine and trust fund. No, he rolled into the family business — H. Nickolls & Son (Milford) Ltd — a haulage firm that had rumbled through nearly a century of Staffordshire history. Trucks, grit, diesel in the veins, and more early starts than a milkman on Red Bull.

It was real. It was proud. It was bloody hard work.

Eventually, like all things that refuse to adapt to modern financial nonsense, the company folded. Not through failure — but through sheer bloody realism. Because sometimes, the world changes and the right call is walking away with your head held high rather than selling out or going bust pretending you're not.

And that, my friend, takes serious guts.

Chapter 4: Marriage, Mortality and Springer Spaniels

In 2002, John married Rachel. A whirlwind romance turned caravan-clad adventure saga. They had kids — Saffron in 2002, Hubert in 2004 — and built a life. A real life. School runs, family holidays, dogs (including a three-legged Springer named Curry — yes, really), and a rescue spaniel named Winston.

The family had caravans. Not just for holidays — these were rolling chapters of memory. Grit-stained BBQs, muddy wellies, burnt sausages, and evenings fuelled by kids’ laughter and the unmistakable smell of wet dogs.

Sadly, the marriage didn’t last. 2011 brought change. But not failure. Because John didn’t fall apart — he recalibrated. The compass didn’t break; it just pointed to a different kind of north.

Chapter 5: The Reinvention of John Nickolls

Where most people stagnate, John pivoted.

He bought Vanilla — not an ice cream, but a VW T6.1 campervan of dreams, fully loaded and ready for adventure. This wasn't midlife crisis territory. This was midlife clarity. While some men buy motorbikes and start talking about crypto, John bought a campervan and started living.

He drove. He explored. He wild camped on lochs. He did Route 66 in a 35-foot RV with two mates, John (Rousey) and Gary — three blokes, one beast of a vehicle, and 2,448 miles of questionable food, stronger friendships, and the kind of American weirdness you can’t find in a box set.

Oh, and let’s not forget the February 2025 Rome trip with his best friend Fiona. A platonic duo exploring the Colosseum, St. Peter’s, and the Trevi Fountain, armed with gelato, inside jokes, and zero romantic pressure — because friendship, when done right, is a damn love story of its own.

Chapter 6: Drones, Ginger Shots and Digital Stardom

While most men his age were googling “how to open PDFs” or “is it gout or arthritis?”, John was out flying a DJI Mavic 2 Pro, capturing jaw-dropping aerial shots for his site johnsdrones.net. YouTube channel? Check. Instagram reels? Sharp. CapCut edits? Slicker than a greased otter.

This isn’t a hobby. This is passion, elevated. Literally.

He also got crafty. Stickers, iron-ons, Cricut wizardry. Add in ginger shots, jam-making, and bread that would make Paul Hollywood weep, and you’ve got a man who basically reinvented the Renaissance Man… in Stafford.

And let’s not forget Nix Shots — his own branded ginger concoction so strong it could probably jump-start a Ford Transit. Celery, chilli flakes, spinach, and regret — all in one bottle. One swig and your immune system stands to attention like a drill sergeant on payday.

Chapter 7: Villa 'Til He Dies

Supporting Aston Villa isn’t a choice. It’s a hereditary condition. You’re born with it, you suffer with it, you die loving it. Through the mid-table misery, the flirtation with glory, and the Europa League dreams, John has remained loyal.

The Wildwood pub in Stafford might as well hang his shirt from the rafters. It's where legends (and half-decent pints) are made.

When Villa do well? It's ecstasy. When they flop? Well, he’s got ginger shots and sarcasm to cushion the blow.

Chapter 8: The Edge of Everyday Life

John doesn’t just live — he narrates it. Everything’s an event. A walk on Cannock Chase is an Attenborough-level expedition. A kitchen experiment becomes Bake Off with bass drops. A drone flight isn’t just a hobby, it’s an aerial assault on mediocrity.

He’s a man who’s lived through fads and furies. From '80s New Romantics to TikTok reels. From Saturday morning cartoons to drone mapping Litchi missions. He’s a product of his time — but not defined by it.

He’s got Spotify playlists that bounce from Dire Straits to Underworld. He’s editing photos on Pixelmator, recording content for Johns Drones, and blasting the past with a laser projector in Vanilla like he’s staging his own Glastonbury… on four wheels and a camping mat.

Chapter 9: The Truth About Edgy

What is edgy, really?

It’s not piercings and tattoos and overpriced espresso in Shoreditch. It’s saying, “I’ve lived a life with love, loss, road dust, and drone footage — and I’d do it all again.”

It’s turning the closure of a century-old business into a chapter, not a tragedy.

It’s looking heartbreak in the eye and saying, “That all you got?”

It’s buying a grey VW and calling it Vanilla — and making it the most colourful damn thing you’ve ever driven.

Chapter 10: Legacy

John Nickolls is 61 going on “try and stop me.” He’s not slowing down. He’s not fading into the beige wallpaper of retirement. He’s designing stickers, editing drone footage, tweaking websites, road-tripping, bread-making, and still managing to post a better Facebook photo than anyone under 30.

Saffron and Hubert? They’ve got a dad who’s shown them what resilience looks like. A man who didn’t let life break him — not after marriage, business, or breakdowns. A man who proved you can be strong and gentle, rugged and caring, funny and raw.

His friends — Simon, Guy, Bill, Bradders, Dave — they’re not mates. They’re chapters in an ongoing book of beers, sarcasm, and shoulder-to-shoulder solidarity.

Fiona? She’s a best friend in the truest sense — proof that soulmates don’t always come with romantic strings, but sometimes with shared gelato, inside jokes, and perfectly planned road trips.

Final Chapter: A Life Still Writing Itself

This isn’t the end. It’s not even close. If life were a book, John’s is the one where you dog-ear every page because there’s wisdom, humour, or a brutal truth that makes you laugh-snort into your tea.

He's the bloke who's been through it and come out not only intact but better.

More real. More authentic. More John.

And if you're lucky enough to know him — or even just to have read this far — you've seen a glimpse of a life that doesn’t chase the spotlight, but somehow, always ends up standing in it.

Postscript: The Edgy Truth

So here it is.

No filters. No fluff. Just truth — honest, unapologetic, and probably a bit too loud for the neighbours.

And if you're reading this thinking, “Blimey, I wish my life was this full,” — it can be.

Just live like John does:

On your own terms. In your own van. With ginger shots, drone footage, Spotify blaring, and not a single damn given for what anyone else thinks.