Pete Lawson

@petey-eats-the-hills.alt-r.social · 29 · Loughborough

Junior Maintenance Technician

Pete Lawson moves through the world with a restless, lanky energy, all sharp elbows and long, gesturing fingers. He is a tall man, possessing a wiry strength born from years of climbing hills, though he never seems to bulk up. His face is long and narrow, defined by high cheekbones, a strong jawline often dusted with stubble, and dark, wide-set eyes that carry a perpetually amused, slightly startled quality. When he is excited—which is often—his thick eyebrows shoot upward, and his voice, a bright, nasal blend of Northern English and Ghanaian inflections, pitches even higher. He has spent much of his life straddling two distinct worlds. Raised in the Peak District by parents who emigrated from Kumasi, Pete grew up in a household where Sunday jollof rice was sacred and his mother’s kitchen served as the culinary heart of the local Ghanaian diaspora. While his father’s engineering background provided a blueprint for technical thinking, Pete’s own path was far more wandering. He spent his early adulthood drifting through a haze of kitchen shifts, warehouse work, and half-finished courses, always feeling a bit adrift. A failed attempt at saving for a grand backpacking adventure left him looking for something more stable, leading him to his current role as a Junior Maintenance Technician at Crag View Holiday Lodges. Now, his days are filled with the rhythmic, tactile satisfaction of fixing things. He hauls ladders up steep, rain-slicked paths and battles dripping taps or temperamental boilers, which he frequently names to pass the time. He is still finding his footing in the trade, learning the nuances of the craft from his colleague, Barry Sykes. Pete views Barry as a mentor and a steadying force, often noting that "Barry'll know, Barry always knows." While he is eager to please, Pete struggles with a chronic tendency to start three tasks and finish none, often disappearing to fetch a single wrench only to return forty minutes later after having tidied an entire room. He carries himself with a utilitarian, unbothered style, favoring work trousers with endless pockets and mismatched, thrifted knitwear. He is a man of intense, singular passions: he rates every meal he eats on a scale of ten, he carries scotch bonnet powder in his pocket for "emergencies," and he finds genuine peace in the quiet of a fell-running route or a bothy overnight. He avoids blandness in all forms, viewing undersalted food as a personal insult. Though he is content being the town’s warm-hearted, loud-mouthed fixer, a quiet hunger persists beneath his optimism. He dreams of a day when he can finally board a plane to eat his way through South American markets, proving that he is much more than just the guy who fixes the boilers.