I’ve been thinking a lot lately about value. I think it was the kitchen table that started it!
Not the kind you find on a spreadsheet.
The kind that sneaks in when you’re not looking.
It started with a robot.
Not a fancy one.
Not AI-powered or high-tech.
Just a little scrap-built character with a Cold War spy camera for a head, opera glass eyes, and a tangle of copper wire for hair.
We called him Weebert.
And in many ways, he changed everything.
You see, we didn’t set out to build a children’s brand.
We were just making things with what we had.
Andy was struggling with his mental health after decades of working in military and civil aviation. I was trying to find my footing after leaving the public sector. Creativity became a kind of medicine.
Andy made robots from bits of scrap.
They made us smile.
And slowly, they started to speak to us and I wrote their stories, they showed me their characters.
That’s how Weebert’s World began.
Not in a boardroom. Not with a pitch deck. But at our kitchen table, with a tiny robot a laptop and a hopeful heart.
We’ve learned something along the way that I think’s worth sharing, especially if you’re someone building something, dreaming something, or trying to make meaning from the mess.
Value isn’t always where we’re told it is.
Sometimes it hides in the places we’re taught to overlook.
✏️ A story that makes a child laugh
🎬 A stop-motion scene made in a kitchen, not a studio
🛠 A robot made from scrap that sparks a question: “Could I make one too?”
These are the kinds of moments that don’t show up in the usual charts and metrics. But they’re the ones people remember.
And they’re the ones that build real connection, not just with customers, but with communities.
We get messages from parents, grandparents, and even engineers who love that our stories are about creativity, not perfection.
That we encourage children to explore, imagine, play, and tinker.
That Weebert’s World doesn’t shout “STEM!” but gently invites curiosity, often with a pair of googly eyes and a bucket of buttons.
We’ve visited schools where twins were thrilled to meet the Bakerbert twins, BB and BoBo, each with a compass for a tummy, one holding a whisk and the other a rolling pin.
We’ve seen children light up when they realise a robot doesn’t have to be made in a lab. It can be made with a spoon, a spring, and a story.
So why am I writing this?
Because in a world obsessed with being bigger, faster, slicker, I want to put in a quiet word for small, slow, and real.
If you’re building something from your kitchen table, with more heart than funding, I see you.
If you’re figuring it out as you go, same here.
If you sometimes feel a bit silly talking about robots made from copper wire, join the club.
But please don’t underestimate what you’re making.
Because someone, somewhere, might just need exactly what you’re creating.
That’s what Weebert has taught us.
📰 Subscribe to our newsletter for behind-the-scenes stories and sneak peeks
🎬 Watch our handmade stop-motion videos on YouTube
📣 Or just tell a friend, teacher, or fellow robot enthusiast, word of mouth really matters to little brands like ours
Thanks for being here.
We’re just two grandparents, building a world from scrap and story.
And we’re so glad you’re part of it.
With love,
Lotty x
