I'm good friends with Robbie Williams because we both grew up in

The words “I’m good friends with Robbie Williams because we both grew up in Stoke and our dads went to the same pubs. His dad, Pete, is like my second dad, I can talk to him about anything and I see him most weeks. And Rob is brilliant, a really generous, lovely bloke” were spoken by Phil Taylor, the master of darts and one of Britain’s most decorated sportsmen. Beneath their humble simplicity lies a truth that transcends fame and fortune — the power of shared roots, loyal friendship, and the unbreakable threads of community. Taylor, though a champion known around the world, speaks not of glory or triumph, but of belonging — to a place, to people, to the spirit of kinship that shapes the soul more deeply than any victory ever could.

When he says he and Robbie Williams both grew up in Stoke-on-Trent, he speaks of a bond that runs deeper than fame, a connection forged in the soil of shared beginnings. In this, there is an ancient wisdom: that greatness does not sever us from where we came from — rather, it grows from it. The familiar pubs, the laughter of fathers and friends, the unspoken understanding of people who know the same streets and hardships — these are the quiet foundations upon which true character is built. The ancients would have called this the virtue of philía, the noble friendship that endures through time, distance, and difference. For in the fellowship of equals, born of shared struggle and shared memory, the heart finds its truest home.

Taylor’s words are not adorned with grand philosophy, yet they carry its essence. In saying that Pete Williams, Robbie’s father, is “like my second dad,” he reveals the sacred bond of mentorship and care, a relationship older than history itself. The figure of the elder — the one who listens, guides, and offers warmth without judgment — is a cornerstone of every great civilization. From the wise teachers of Greece to the village elders of old England, the spirit of the “second father” has always been a symbol of continuity and love. In Taylor’s gratitude toward Pete, we glimpse not merely affection, but reverence — the understanding that wisdom and kindness can pass through families not by blood alone, but by choice and friendship.

This kind of bond has long been praised in legend. Consider the story of Achilles and Phoenix, as told in Homer’s Iliad. Phoenix was not Achilles’ father by birth, but he raised him, taught him, guided him in the arts of battle and virtue. When Achilles’ pride led him astray, Phoenix’s voice became the echo of reason and love that reminded him of who he was. So it is with Taylor and Pete Williams — their connection stands as a reminder that every soul needs both the strength of friendship and the wisdom of elders to stay rooted in goodness. For fame and fortune may dazzle, but it is guidance and loyalty that keep a man grounded.

When Taylor calls Robbie “a generous, lovely bloke,” he reminds us that greatness of spirit is not measured by wealth or acclaim, but by kindness. In this, he strips away the illusion of celebrity and reveals the eternal truth: that friendship is the equalizer of all men. It is a sacred exchange of respect and affection, untouched by status or success. The world often celebrates the powerful and the famous, yet forgets that what truly sustains the heart is connection — the quiet moments of laughter, the shared stories over familiar tables, the presence of someone who knows you not for what you’ve achieved, but for who you are.

This quote, simple though it may seem, is also a hymn to humility. Both Phil Taylor and Robbie Williams rose from modest beginnings in Stoke to international fame — one in sport, the other in music. Yet neither man has allowed the heights of success to erase the memory of where they began. To stay close to one’s roots, to visit the same pubs, to share time with the same people, is to honor the past that shaped the present. It is to remember that no matter how far one travels, the truest form of greatness is to remain human, grateful, and kind.

The lesson, then, is one of remembrance and gratitude. Cherish your roots, for they are the soil from which your strength grows. Honor your friendships, for they are the shelter that guards your heart. And seek out those “second fathers” and “second mothers” who offer wisdom freely, for they are the quiet architects of your soul. In a world that glorifies speed and ambition, never forget that it is love, loyalty, and humility that make a life rich and enduring.

So, children of tomorrow, remember this: success may lift you high, but friendship keeps you upright. Be like Phil Taylor — proud of where you come from, loyal to those who shaped you, and humble enough to see that the truest victories are not won in arenas, but in the company of those who remind you who you are. For wealth fades, applause dies, and fame forgets — but friendship and roots endure like the hearth-fire that never goes out.