Olly Williams: ‘I owe my career to a white shark’

Beech trees and black coffee: 40%
Most mornings, when I wake, I lie for a few minutes and listen to the bird song. The relentless woodpecker mainly, hammering out its wonderful thrum in the dead beech tree. It’s a bit of a relay really, handing over from the tawny owl who sleeps in the same tree by day. My mind drifts to forests as I stagger down stairs, greeted by Boy, my two-year-old fox-red lab, and a stroll round the garden. Trees and forests seem to dominate my thoughts in the morning. I am a Londoner by birth, but a country boy by heart, and the latter has won the race by a county mile. Strong black coffee and then we head out – “unearthing” I call it, moving slowly through trees, trying to calm the old noggin, watching Boy sniff his way into olfactory nirvana. Not an original activity for a poet, but an essential ritual for this old dog.

A breakfast of words and images: 20%
Always on my mind is my first meal of the day. My break-fast. Fighting the fight for most of my post-rugby life, the 16/8 fasting routine has been a lifesaver. That and moving, I guess. Four eggs and the dilemma of organic white or brown sourdough (the only bread, so my son advises), always with salted butter and some smoked salmon. Another strong black coffee, then words and images fill my mind.

Bog oak: 20%
As a nascent poet, images inform most of the words I write – gleaned from memory, moments in nature, of love, and loss – a routine of sorts, but today bog oak dominates. My friend and jeweller Natasha Wightman hones 10,000-year-old forests that are flattened by tsunamis, regurgitated from the peat and kiln-dried into a stunning bas relief. I own a piece of this amazing wood, fashioned as a custom knife handle; tannin black, smooth to the touch with vein-like grain, a thing of exquisite beauty from another age. Here I go again, back to the forest.

Kids and dream catchers: 10%
Both mine have now flown, but we talk on the blower daily. My son, Bear, is a professional rugby league player and my daughter, Kora, a jazz singer: both are my “why”. They are our greatest achievement and my wife, Lisa, and I are so blessed to have them in our lives. As to the reason they compose just 10% of my thoughts today (despite the fact I would selfishly love them at home 24/7) is that I know they are chasing their dreams. As a parent you can’t ask for more than that!

Silvertip sharks: 5%
I’ve just returned from Fakarava in French Polynesia, where the day job was diving and painting endangered creatures. I’m obsessed, and I owe my career to both a white shark and my partner, Suzi. I drift towards a “wall of sharks” in Fakarava’s southern pass, having decided my time is better spent dreaming of the big blue than listening to the news. The joy of radio and TV is the ability to simply turn it off. And off I go, rolling backwards into warm waters, calming my breathing, checking gauges then gently finning, as silvertip sharks glide closer and closer…

Tea with wolves: 5%
There’s something you should know about me: I love tea time. So much so that it is often my last meal of the day or else I would be even bigger! My son tries to keep me on the straight and narrow (sort of) – he advises two meals max, so tea time it is! English breakfast, milk and a spoon of Greek honey. Then nuts and some protein. And some blueberries. Mix together a pemmican of sorts and then I’m off again, flying over the boreal forests of Alaska and Swedish Lapland and the far north, always beguiled by the wild and by Boy, who sits close at hand, my best mate and my eating partner. My wolf. All domestic dogs share 100% DNA with timber wolves, whether it’s a 1kg chihuahua or a 90kg boerboel. I heard a story once of a wounded wolf seeking shelter in a trappers cabin and I have had a similar experience with wild wolves, too. On Canada’s Ellesmere Island, the Arctic wolves that approached our tent showed zero fear, nor the slightest hint of aggressiveness. They were inquisitive, trusting proof of the possibility of a shared hunting relationship. Later, as dusk descends, I make a fire and ponder this primordial relationship as the flames dance. Then Boy sits up and nudges me and it’s time to take him out one last time before bed. Our relationship is one I simply could not live without.