Silent Noises

We are three men.We own no barrows.But we are the Barrow Boys.Services include:Moving large volumes of material, slowlyProviding inconsistent motivationOffering unsolicited life advice mid-taskOccasional concrete work (results may vary)Barrow not included.Somewhere between reviewing a year of “self-improvement” and admitting we mostly just noticed our own bullshit more clearly, things unravel.We talk habits, lies, growth, doomscrolling, leadership, running, not running, reading, not reading, and the strange realization that paying attention to your life is both the solution and the problem.Client Feedback:“Work was completed eventually.Morale was confusingly high.Would not hire again, but would have a beer with them.”Bring on 2026.The Barrow Boys are ready.(Still no barrow.)

A man stands in a forest car park,He came here for peace.He brought mindfulness, a towel he forgot, and a brain that will not shut up.The pool is closed. The towel is missing.The togs are imagined, a bird sings.Somewhere a grown man screams into the steering wheel of a station wagon.Ancient philosophers spoke of the cup overflowing.These ones speak of the chest gently folding over itself like a wise and patient croissant.Because depth, is not measured in silence, meditation, or perfect routines.Depth is measured in small collapses. In failed self-care days.In forgetting the towel. In sitting in a car park asking and eventually realising:A man is not defined by the absence of folds.A man is only as deep as his titty roll.

Three men plan a bank heist in full drag.One brings hot dogs.One brings yak musk.None bring a plan.Colossal testicles, transgender butter, and a four-day no-wipe streak, a hotel fire alarm goes off.Thirteen floors.Bare feet on Auckland pavement.No hot water.No dignity.A man whittles a stool he may or may not have made.Another meditates mid-defecation.Someone suggests butthole print scanning technology.We all agree potatoes are not a complete solution.This is about carving meaning out of nonsense.About shaping chaos into something small enough to hold.About rollerblading away from your own incompetence in a Beyoncé mask.American Bonsai.Carefully trimmed.Deeply unnecessary.Beautiful.

Toothbrush slander, cinnamon-on-toast propaganda, and a few catastrophic poo stories quickly unravels into a full buffet of chaos. There’s talk of cringe moments that still haunt us, and a multi-layered debate on fiber intake that would make any dietician resign on the spot. We debut a new segment, The Motion Has Been Passed and pitch a totally unhinged business idea: a late-night food truck called The Savaloy Wagon.Eventually things settle into habits, laziness, fasting, Greek yogurt, resilience, reading, boredom, and an unwanted Facebook Marketplace feud. There’s a weight-loss challenge, a creativity challenge, and more anatomical oversharing than anyone asked for. It’s deranged, warm and occasionally useful. Just a classic week with the Savaloy Boys.

First-root confessions reveal a fishing village fiasco involving a tarp and a tea towel which slowly unravel into something uncomfortably human. It’s the full emotional arc: filth, laughter, and more tangents than anyone asked for. There the usual chat of heavy sets, budding bosoms, sleepless nights, and magnesium, before the conversation turns toward fathers, forgiveness, and the gravity of having kids.By the end, things get raw. The jokes run out, the beers go quiet, and the Beef himself sheds a tiny, heroic tear. It’s funny, it’s sad, it’s long, and it’s one of our best. Buckle up.

A pub table near the toilets. Bad choices are made immediately, and defended passionately. There’s talk of zombies, furries, screen addictions, heavy nuts, gratitude, and fathers who didn’t quite show up. The tone shifts like a drunk jukebox — earnest, dumb, briefly profound, then dumb again.Someone almost redeems themselves with a quote about facing death; someone else ruins it with the phrase “tattooable quote.” A small mercy is found somewhere between honesty and idiocy, and for now, that’s enough.

Somewhere between karaoke, introspection, and shaving small rodents, the lads accidentally stumble into a metaphor for modern life. From being “guinea pigs” in a punishing workshop to exploring the existential terror of actual guinea pigs, the conversation spirals through vulnerability, karaoke bar rules, and the occasional unsolicited dressing-down.By the time they reach fasting, meditation, and Ronald Redford’s thoughts on failure, things start to make alarming sense. It’s a loose-limbed mix of friendship, philosophy, and faint regret — proof that enlightenment can sometimes arrive disguised as a trembling rodent with a well-maintained arse.

It starts as a round of forced compliments quickly spirals into open-eyed kissing techniques, vomit bombs out car windows, and an unnecesary comment regarding a boot and a trunk. We detour through homemade shoehorns, underwear pouches, Donald Ducking, and the mash-up nobody asked for: Meatloaf meets Beethoven, a.k.a. Meathoven.From bodybuilding bronzer mishaps to the fine art of shitting before a marathon, the episode drifts between habits, heavy nuts(lies), Metamucil confessions, and the occasional attempt at Stoic wisdom. It’s heartfelt in places, ridiculous in most, and the kind of conversation that leaves you both dumber and strangely motivated.

One of us gets absolutely steamrolled by the flu and possibly karma, while the other relives a childhood prank so cowardly it still haunts him. There’s a decent amount of diarrhea talk—don’t worry, it’s metaphorical (mostly)—plus real attempts to make sense of those fragile moments when everything feels pointless, worthless, or just plain gross.We wrestle with identity, resilience, the mental load of parenting, and the existential weirdness of being someone’s child and someone’s dad at the same time. Also: bad poetry, good Stoics, and a few unhinged thoughts about toothpaste. It's a mess. But a hopeful one.And if you’ve ever tried to power through a mental health spiral using nothing but willpower and a hot water bottle—this one’s for you.https://substack.com/@nickbeefman⁠⁠https://medium.com/@nickbeefman

A conversation that starts with childhood fads—yo-yos, marbles, and tragic haircuts—ends up veering into mortality, medical checkups, and why a finger in the bum has become such a clinical inevitability. Somewhere in the middle, we roast Lord of the Dance, and debate whether cock rings and Irish jigs have more in common than anyone asked for.Art makes a return with watercolor nostalgia and a piece that accidentally channels the Illuminati, while vulnerability runs under the surface: what does progress actually feel like when you’re fighting old habits and mental fog? There’s laughter in the absurdity, honesty in the lows, and a surprising amount of energy spent on whether women’s jeans really button the other way.Also, someone may or may not have killed a sparrow with a marble. Hard to tell.

Sexual jealousy. Not a topic we set out to cover, but it snuck in anyway—alongside badger metaphors, charcoal nudes, and an alarming number of cello references. What starts as a chat about surprising opinions ends up veering into teenage regrets, parenting stoner kids, and how to navigate aging when your balls start going grey. It’s reflective, chaotic, occasionally uncomfortable—but always curious.⁠https://medium.com/@nickbeefmanThere’s serious conversation in the mix—about what we’d tell our teenage selves, the quiet panic of trying to raise emotionally resilient kids, and what happens when you realise you’re not who you used to be. But it's wrapped in a swirl of sausages, dubious art critiques, and a firm stance against bellybutton rings on men named Mitch.Also, there’s a painting of a nude man with the word “PERV” scrawled over his groin. So, you know, balance.

An aggressively affectionate deep dive into male grooming, unexpected intimacy, and the fine line between a compliment and a condiment. We kick off with a mild crisis of confidence about party tricks and walk ourself gently into a conversation about praise, validation, and whether we’re all just dying for someone to tell us we’ve done a good job while we’re holding a spatula.https://medium.com/@nickbeefmanHair removal becomes a metaphor. Or maybe just a cautionary tale. We explore the emotionally charged terrain of moustache envy, sack wax regret, and the unspoken rules of gym nudity. Also, there's a weird amount of chat about cuddling — how to ask for it, how not to, and why Kiwi men are weird about touch unless they're in stubbies and a collared shirt.Underneath it all is a slightly chaotic but sincere attempt to figure out how to be more affirming, more open, and slightly less full of shit. Plus: a perfect quote ruined by interruption and at least one wildly specific compliment that may or may not involve pants.

A gentle ramble through values, wealth, and the occasional Nut Catastrophe™. This crapshow opens with existential flatness and ends somewhere between humility poems, accordion circles, and pondering the fine line between instilling values and just being a preachy dick. There’s parenting philosophy, reflections on childhood wealth (or the lack thereof), and a brief but heartfelt ode to solo parents that somehow still ends in a conversation about wearing women’s thongs on a Cornish pier.⁠⁠https://medium.com/@nickbeefman⁠⁠⁠We wrestle with how to teach kids about commitment without turning into drill sergeants, whether wealth means money, time, or just the ability to avoid blood in your wee, and what it means to actually live out the values you talk about. Somewhere along the way, a penis gets cast in clay, bongo circles are banned, and humility is reluctantly freestyled. A mess, but a meaningful one.

Two men walk into a podcast and stumble backwards into racism, sausage addiction, sensual dancing, childhood trauma, and the crushing weight of unspoken disappointment. A slow spiral from philosophical icebreakers to regrettable tattoo comments, with a few sweaty detours through Latin dance class and the murky semantics of the word “sensual.” Along the way, you'll meet The Sausage Men of Bethlehem, a deeply troubled (yet oddly noble) support group for men who can’t resist a hot service station kransky.It’s equal parts confessional and farce: cigarette withdrawals, porn-induced moral panic, and family breakdowns nestle side-by-side with Hagrid slander, and a surprisingly touching meditation on how to open up hard conversations with people you love. There’s poetry (sort of), impression attempts (also sort of), and one man’s deeply misguided use of the phrase “Black Widow.” This is the existential crisis podcast wrapped in a sausage roll and dipped in inappropriate humour.

Some conversations slide sideways before they even stand up straight. This one starts in the gentlest of places—nostalgia, grammar, bladder control—and ends up somewhere between adolescence, urinal etiquette, and a deeply regrettable wool garment from the Edwardian era. There are poems, of course, and bold new theories about whether your mate's general horniness is a personality trait or a vitamin deficiency.https://substack.com/@nickbeefmanhttps://medium.com/@nickbeefmanWe dig into memory, shame, and the kind of character-building moments that only happen when you’re slightly too naked and very far from home. There's also a brief detour into the mechanics of self-pleasure, a moment of self-reflection that accidentally turns sincere, and a running tally of unnecessary things said out loud. At one point, someone says “My Grandmother’s Codpiece” and nobody flinches.

Sometimes you record an episode that feels like a therapy session wearing a silly hat. This one opens with a polite warm-up—icebreakers, flamingo milk, and a smell in the gym that may or may not be the scent of regret. It slowly unspools into a more honest reckoning with childhood friendships, romantic connection, and whether the phrase “pissy pants” can ever be morally justified. It’s earnest, it’s messy, it’s a bit gross.⁠⁠⁠https://medium.com/@nickbeefman⁠⁠⁠⁠https://substack.com/@nickbeefmanSomewhere between debating the ethics of bullying and whispering sweet nothings to your phone at 3am, we stumble into something like emotional intimacy. There’s poetry, sleep anxiety, Ritalin, some light sobbing, and—of course—a cock pointed at the ceiling. If you make it through to the end, you deserve a flamingo milk latte and a long hug from a stranger who smells faintly of nostalgia and tiger balm.

⁠⁠https://medium.com/@nickbeefman⁠⁠Recorded in the corner of a busy pub over a few jars, this episode welcomes our first ever guest—who also happens to be a half-brother of one of our Heros. What follows is a slow spiral of genuine connection, mild sabotage, and unsolicited moustache compliments. Somewhere between defending a love of oat milk and rewriting the definition of “a cool gay man,” we stumble into the murky terrain of dating apps, confused swipes, and the quiet hum of repressed curiosity.There’s vulnerability here—though you’ll need to squint between the dick jokes and sudden shirtlessness to see it. We talk about the weirdness of family, the straight man’s limited vocabulary for admiration, and the strange comfort of being seen, even when the lighting’s bad and your balls are tight. At some point, someone leaves the table. At another, someone almost cries. No one learns anything, but somehow things feel a little better by the end.https://medium.com/@nickbeefmanhttps://nickbeefman.substack.com/https://www.silentnoises.co.nz/

⁠⁠https://medium.com/@nickbeefman⁠⁠Two men, one journal, and a tangle of internal dialogues—some of them Irish. Mike admits he’s been stuck in the monotonous grind of habit stacking without a goal in sight, while Nick casually suggests electrotherapy to the japs eye as a viable solution. It's all very supportive.Somewhere between wrestling with inner demons and debating what constitutes regular-sized dick energy, there's a real conversation about the weight (literal and figurative) we carry, the fear of failure, and why the hell we keep doing the same things while expecting something different. There’s also a brief detour into black-market Tiger Balm and the dangers of applying it too liberally below deck.Poems are shared, life philosophies are questioned, and Mike finally unveils his grand list of goals—only to have them shat on and then grudgingly approved. All wrapped in a little too much unnecessary sexual tension.

⁠⁠https://medium.com/@nickbeefman⁠⁠This episode is a slow spiral into the soft underbelly of habit fatigue, emotional constipation, and journaling as a gateway drug to unsolicited introspection. Mike confesses to feeling like a spreadsheet with legs, while Nick doubles down on dredging up teenage trauma with a $4 Kmart notebook and a ballpoint pen. There’s poetry, poop anxiety, hockey tantrums, and a bit too much time spent imagining life in a G-string. We also ask the big questions—like “Who’s actually got it right?” and “Is there any dignity left in white jeans?”Along the way, we grapple with judgement (both healthy and crack-addict-level), the dopamine hit of gossip, and what it means to get meaningfully uncomfortable. There's a poetry slam. There’s a philosophical argument about bananas. There’s even a discussion about the optimal crotch-seam construction of men’s underwear. If you’re chasing self-betterment but keep getting distracted by your own inner monologue or Savage Garden nostalgia, this one’s for you.

⁠⁠https://medium.com/@nickbeefman⁠⁠In this episode, the lads spiral from self-help to self-roast. One reflects on a hotel room victory—stretching, meditating, running, even reading—while the other shares his lifelong war with gym nemeses who don’t wipe down equipment or do proper reps. From CrossFit rants and competitive fragility to philosophical musings on preparation and procrastination, it’s part confessional, part therapy session, part slow-burning existential joke.They try to be better men. They really do. But the road to self-improvement is slippery when you’re fueled by spite, poetic thumb-in-bum epiphanies, and unresolved trauma involving shirtless gym bros. Bonus: a poem about the podcast itself, some armchair CBT, and a derailed argument about the Atami Bath House. This week’s accidental theme? The dumb beauty of trying when you don’t quite believe you can.

Milking Hours, Sauna Rage & Redundant Undies⁠⁠https://medium.com/@nickbeefman⁠⁠This week, we dive deep into the sticky, squishy middle of self-improvement—where dopamine hits and dirty laundry collide. Your favorite duo unpacks what it actually takes to build better habits for 2025, from quitting the inbox-induced work wank cycle to waking up at 4:30am in a house full of tiny human alarm clocks. There’s talk of early morning gym sessions, mindfulness meditations, and the kind of creative outbursts that begin with poetry and end with a power ballad about undergarments.⁠https://nickbeefman.substack.com/⁠⁠https://www.silentnoises.co.nz/⁠We also take a steamy detour into a public sauna showdown involving scripture, sweaty confrontation, and spiritual growth. One host channels inner peace, the other prepares for righteous battle—in togs. Plus: Mike's guilty food confessions, a surprising weight-loss camp story (involving neither movement nor bowel movements), and a heartfelt ode to throwing away holy undies in favor of adulthood. It’s raw, it’s real, it’s possibly the only podcast that ends with a demand for original poetry and a guinea pig housing renovation montage. Buckle up.

⁠https://medium.com/@nickbeefman⁠Two guys embark on a noble, beer-fueled quest to make 2025 suck less than 2024. In this episode, they lay out their daily, weekly, and fortnightly habits—cutting out takeaways (except for Fridays), exercising through the pain, stretching in eerie silence, and battling the siren song of doomscrolling. Along the way, they uncover the tragic betrayal of bathroom scales, debate the ethics of eating elephants, and wonder if they should start painting with their penises.Progress? Questionable. Commitment? Strong. Willpower? Debatable.⁠https://nickbeefman.substack.com/⁠⁠https://www.silentnoises.co.nz/