I often joke that I have the best viewers on YouTube.

The truth is…

I don’t think it’s a joke anymore.

Recently I uploaded a video about trying to get my old CR-10S 3D printer working again. I wasn’t expecting much more than a few troubleshooting suggestions.

Instead, the comments turned into a masterclass.

People suggested drying old filament, checking extruder gears, levelling the gantry, replacing worn components and even installing entirely new firmware.

One comment in particular made me laugh. It was incredibly detailed—install a Raspberry Pi, run Klipper, generate bed meshes, replace lead screws, fit linear rails…

It was thoughtful.

Helpful.

And obviously written by someone who really knows their stuff.

But reading it also made me realise something about myself.

I’m Not a Printer Hobbyist

I love making terrain.

I love painting miniatures.

I love building worlds.

What I don’t love is spending entire weekends turning a printer into a project.

Some people genuinely enjoy squeezing every last ounce of performance out of their machines, and I have enormous respect for that.

I’m just not one of them.

I want my printer to be like the printer sitting next to my desk.

I press Print.

Something comes out.

That’s the relationship I want with technology.

When my tools disappear into the background, I get to spend more time creating.

Clearing Out the Hobby Room

With so many people suggesting I move to a modern printer, I started looking around the hobby room.

There were old kits I’d been hanging onto since I closed the shop.

Gaming mats.

Miniatures.

Forgotten projects.

Even boxes of handmade dice bags that I’d sewn years ago.

I started listing things on the website, hoping to raise enough money to put towards a new printer.

It felt good.

Not because I was getting rid of things, but because I was making room for the next chapter.

Then Something Happened

A long-time viewer contacted me privately.

He didn’t ask for a shout-out.

He didn’t want his name mentioned.

He wasn’t promoting a business.

He simply wanted to say thank you.

He told me he’d been watching the channel for years.

That some of the more personal videos—especially those where I’d spoken honestly about my own mental health—had helped him through difficult times.

Then he shared something deeply personal.

His mum had passed away last year.

Mine had too.

He told me she’d left him some money, and that it would mean a great deal to him if he could use some of it to buy me a new 3D printer.

I honestly didn’t know what to say.

My first reaction was that it was too much.

I didn’t deserve something so generous.

But after thinking about it, I realised that refusing the gift would also mean refusing what it represented.

This wasn’t really about a printer.

It was about kindness.

Seventeen Years Later

I’ve been uploading videos to YouTube for seventeen years.

Like every creator, I’ve wondered whether it’s worth continuing.

Whether anyone is really watching.

Whether the time spent filming, editing and uploading makes any difference.

Sometimes you never know.

People watch quietly.

They don’t always comment.

They don’t always click “Like.”

You have no idea whether a video landed with someone or disappeared into the endless scroll.

Then, every once in a while, someone reminds you that it mattered.

Not because of subscriber numbers.

Not because of ad revenue.

Not because of views.

Because something you shared helped another human being.

That’s difficult to put into words.

More Than a 3D Printer

The printer sitting in my hobby room now is an incredible machine.

I’m looking forward to filling it with Mordheim terrain while I scratch-build Wild West scenery on the workbench beside it.

Every finished print will remind me of the generosity that put it there.

But more importantly, it’ll remind me why I started making videos in the first place.

Not to chase algorithms.

Not to chase numbers.

Just to share the hobby with good people.

If you’ve watched one video or a hundred…

If you’ve ever left a comment…

If you’ve quietly followed along without saying a word…

Thank you.

You probably don’t realise it, but creators remember those moments far longer than they remember the analytics.

After seventeen years, I can honestly say this:

I don’t have the biggest audience on YouTube.

But I do think I have one of the best.