About

Potty-mouthed short-arse. And the tall one who films it.

Some of you have watched me drop my bike and STILL messaged me for advice. I appreciate the faith.

Mel

5ft (153cm)

26 inch inside leg · Kawasaki Z650

Mel

Born in Hungary, fell for the UK's people, culture and bikes. Researches everything, overthinks the rest, and occasionally forgets she's only 5ft when the bike stops.
6ft 2 (188cm)

Triumph Tiger 900 GT Pro

Glyn

Cameraman, chief joker, and the one who encourages Mel. Gets dragged into ideas that sounded sensible at home and champions them anyway, even the daft ones. Grew up in the North West of England and had stopped seeing it until someone from Hungary pointed at it and told him: this country is beautiful, be proud of it.

How it started

A scooter in Thailand, and no driving licence.

Scooters parked on a beach in Thailand at night, city lights across the bay — Thailand 2022 and 2023

I was on the back of a scooter in Thailand with Glyn, and that's where the bug bit.

Glyn's family rode. Then Glyn lost someone close to him, and our priorities shifted. Travelling was already the thing I wanted most, and a bike gives you that same freedom every day, so back in the UK we both went for our DAS. I didn't even have a driving licence. I'd only passed my car test a year before, and I'd never driven before that.

Riding school after riding school didn't have a bike for me.

Too short, apparently. Nobody had a lowered bike for me to try.

October 2025 Passed my DAS anyway, with no riding experience at all.

Public speaking, with a camera pointed at me.

English wasn't widely spoken where I grew up in Hungary. I moved to London in my twenties for my mathematics and engineering career, and met Glyn there, a proper Northerner whose accent I could barely understand. Where he grew up reminded me of home.

Moving up to the north of England brought a whole new set of challenges. My career changed, I was dealing with an autism diagnosis and medication to try to make me "normal", and a new job needed very professional English. So we thought I could practise speaking while doing the thing we love. Nobody would watch anyway, right?

Watching those first videos now, I barely recognise myself. Some have since been deleted. You're welcome.

I'm still collecting English colloquialisms, and I'm proud of how far I've come. Someone even thought I was Welsh once. I'll take that as a compliment!

Within six months, Twisted Therapy had around 1,000 subscribers, and the questions started coming. How tall are you? What boots are those? What's that route like for a short rider? Those questions are why this website exists.

We're still a small channel, and being recognised at bike meets feels absolutely bonkers. If you've ever come over to say hello, you've probably discovered how socially awkward, clumsy and occasionally inappropriate I am. We've been through enough in life to have stopped worrying too much about it.

What I never expected was how many of you would relate.

Somewhere along the way I learned to embrace my quirks. I stopped taking the legalised amphetamines I'd been prescribed, embraced my weird, and found a community that accepts me for who I am, while I'm still learning English.

Mel pulling an awkward pose next to a Honda Hornet in a car park — Posing. Badly.

Perhaps we're all a bunch of misunderstood souls, misfits who happen to love motorbikes.

And if sharing our experiences helps even one person, it's helped us too.

Mel in an orange dress and glasses, hand on hip, smiling in a hotel corridor — Mel · numbers/design

Glyn taking a selfie by the window of a London tower, the city far below — Glyn · software/ML

We act daft on camera

We are not that daft… promise.

We're both geeks with proper jobs, believe it or not! My background was in mathematics and engineering, and these days I work with numbers, which is what I love. Glyn has over 26 years in software engineering and now works in machine learning.

That's as much as you're getting from us. We mention it because when we get stuck into something, like The Blind Spot, we do our homework. We love a bit of research.

As riders, we're still learning, right at the start, and we're not experts by a long shot. You'll see the mistakes, the dropped bikes and the occasional cock-up. We'll share what worked for us, what didn't and what we'd do differently.

If we don't know something, we'll say so. And if we get something wrong, we'd rather you told us. That's how we all learn.

What it costs

Yes, we read the comments.

Putting yourself on YouTube opens you up, and as a woman it opens you up to some nasty comments. We've had them. Luckily we have quite a dark sense of humour, and being Eastern European, I have an incredibly thick skin. We keep going because I've stopped caring what strangers think. The only opinions that matter to me are from the people I value. And then, every now and again, someone says thanks: they really enjoy our little channel, they tell us we're entertaining, and, meaning it kindly, if we can do it, so can they. That's amazing.

We watched brilliant riders before we started, people I think of as champions, and not only for women: for shorter men, shorter women, taller men and everyone in between. I love that. The biking community is like nothing else I've seen in the UK.

We don't know what we're doing, what this turns into, or whether we'll keep going. We like making things. That's our background and our passion, so we're making something and seeing what happens.

The channel

Everything here started as a video.

It all started with one action cam and two people who probably shouldn't be left unsupervised. The ride outs, sitting on bikes, the never-ending hunt for jeans that fit, and even turning up to a dealership with the gates locked.

You'll find it all on Twisted Therapy, complete with our usual banter, sarcasm and occasional bad language.

Twisted Therapy on YouTube

Got a route we should ride, or caught us getting something wrong? Tell us. We're much less awkward by message.