When Andy and I met at school, we weren’t planning a children’s brand. We weren’t thinking about robots, scrap, or storytelling. We were just two kids from a Leeds council estate who laughed too loudly, shared chips on the way home, and believed we’d somehow build our lives together. And we did, though nothing about the journey has ever looked “neat.”
We grew up, got married, had three children, moved more times than I can remember, and learned how to get through the kind of challenges no one teaches you how to handle. Life wasn’t easy, but we lived it side by side. That’s how we’ve always done things.
So when I say Weebert’s World is built from lived experience, I mean it literally.
People often see Weebert and think it’s all fun and robots, and yes, there’s laughter, chaos, and joy in what we do. But Weebert’s World didn’t start because life was fun. It began because life got very heavy.
Andy spent years fixing helicopters, all precision, pressure, and consequences. When a rotor system fails, you can’t shrug and say, “Never mind.” That kind of work stays in your bones.
But after a lifetime of fixing other people’s problems, his own mind finally said, “I can’t do this anymore.”
A breakdown doesn’t arrive politely or give you time to prepare. One day you’re managing everything, and the next you realise you’ve been carrying too much for too long. Things didn’t get “fixed” quickly, and they’re still not always easy. Some days are good. Some days are messy. We don’t pretend otherwise.
But something changed when Andy began building from scrap. Not as a hobby, but as a way of steadying himself. He’d pick up little bits and pieces nobody else wanted, broken parts, forgotten tools, useless metal, and he’d turn them into something full of character, personality, humour, and heart.
While he built, I wrote. Not because we decided to start a business, but because I needed something good to come from what we were going through. I needed a way to make our journey into something meaningful, not just something painful.
The world often treats creativity like a bonus activity for children with spare time, or adults who want a “nice hobby.”
But in our home, creativity has become practical, emotional, and necessary.
Andy builds because it helps him stay steady.
I write because it helps me make sense of what we’re carrying.
Together, we’ve found a way to turn our hardest chapter into something hopeful.
And here’s what I’ve learned, something I think matters for anyone trying to build anything, at any age:
✨ Your life experience counts as skill.
If you’ve survived difficult things, supported others, held it together, or rebuilt yourself, then you’ve learned things worth using, even if you didn’t get a certificate for them.
✨ You don’t need perfect conditions to begin.
We started Weebert’s World with scrap metal and a kitchen table. Most meaningful things start small. Very small.
✨ Pain doesn’t have to sit there doing nothing.
You’re allowed to turn it into a purpose. A project. A mission. Something that helps someone else feel less alone.
We’re not building a brand to be flashy or clever. We’re building a world that says:
🔧 broken things can become something new
💛 hard days don’t mean you’re useless
🌱 imagination is more than fun, it’s how we rebuild
And we want to share that message widely. That’s why, on Monday 1st December, we’re giving away our free Christmas story, How The Berts Saved Christmas on our website.
It’s a story full of teamwork, chaos, mistakes, and characters trying their best. Very much like our real life, just funnier and with more festive chickens.
If our journey proves anything, it’s this:
You don’t need a perfect life to make something beautiful.
You just need to keep going.
Preferably next to someone who believes in you.
with love
Lotty x
