Twits Taking Over

I am not about go into a tirade on David Cameron, Nick Clegg, Piers Morgan or the dodgy subject that is political correctness, but instead on the social networking phenomanon that is Twitter.

I have recently become rather attached to the website in recent weeks, because it does one thing that no other social networking site can do. It lets you follow the lives of your heroes or celebrities where you just want to have a little nosey into their private lives. Facebook requires you to be a "friend" to do such a thing. Twitter? No.

I made an account months ago. But only recently have I used it often. In these 3 weeks, I have witnessed a "banterthon", (if there is such a thing), between Sir Alan Sugar and that annoying cretin that is Piers Morgan. I have followed Stephen Fry's battle with his own head and the lives of many cricketers, currently applying their trade in the Far East, and still Graeme Swann wants to find a Yorkshire Pudding and Gravy for 'Big Bres'. It's exceptional. No other site offers such an insight into people you can only dream of meeting.

And Twitter is how I found about Steven Davies this morning. The England cricketer who has, "come out". I hate that phrase. "Coming out". It makes it sound as if it's something that has to be told and instantly becoming a story. One day, I hope that instances like this don't even get noticed and it isn't even an issue and it doesn't matter. It's as normal as anything else, something I have only recently learnt myself of course.

That will take years though.

Zut Alors!

Damn it!

I would like to start this mornings/late night post with an apology. As is usual with my stages of posting grandeur, I admit my recent posts have been boring and as intelligent as a misguided toddler. I'm sure you, of all people, can understand that the Life of Mitten isn't at it's height at this moment. I'm stuck in between phases, trying to fill the time with money-gaining exercises until the golden days arrive. Refereeing is my main source of income at the moment, and seeing as most of my matches the last couple of weeks have become a victim of the monsoons, I've had to delve deep into my bank account. Bad.

It probably doesn't help that I'm spending most of my money at the moment on things that disappear down my throat. That's food by the way... Good. Just in case you were thinking on a different wavelength! Yeah, I drive past Tesco's regularly and give into the temptation 9 times out of 10 to pop in and grab a donut or a cut-price bar of galaxy. Lately, I've added to the collection by going back to the old days and purchasing a Capri-Sun aswell. As a couple of people say, "It would be rude not to!" And maybe a box of brownies... Plus some special Easter munchies. And then another drink... I know!

Still, I'm sure you didn't kindly log in here to read about my adventures with a Capri-Sun and the Easter Bunny.

The last couple of days then. Well, I think I mentioned I was going out on Friday, which I did. I am pleased to report I didn't, that's ... DIDN'T, end up in a pile of my own vomit, collapse in the arms of an estranged Bedfordian or get transported via van to the local hospital, but instead enjoy a friendly and fun night. Beddoe was a bit worse for wear, spending the final hour of the night gently swaying from side to side on the dancefloor, only being awoken by the presence of a Mohammed Asif lookalike, throwing some interesting "nods" on the dancefloor to the genuine horror of those around him. Imagine our surprise though, when he was quickly joined by a Sreesanth lookalike who, in unison, threw the dancefloor into disarray. If you haven't a clue who I'm talking about, feel free to Google it.

After leaving the club at around 2.30am, and after meeting a couple of people who we used to go to school with, as is usually the case on nights out, we ended up in some place where I purchased a rather poor cheeseburger that tasted like it had been taken from a cow with leprosy and watched on as Beddoe was ripped apart by, "Martin", an Army man with impossible knowledge of computers and then got a cab home in the pouring rain.

This pouring rain takes me on to the next stage of my story, which involves one of my hates. A waterlogged pitch.

I was supposed to be refereeing the afternoon after the night before. Part of the reason, (along with the obvious), as to why I was taking it easy on the alcohol front. Despite not taking it as easy as I expected, I went to sleep at 4am, with the alarm set for a very solid 11am. But before the scream of the alarm was set off, the phone rang, telling me my game was off. THANK GOD FOR THAT! My head was in pain, (something called "A Hangover"?), and I went back to sleep. I woke up at 3pm.

Just, thought I'd throw that in there, and hope that no one notices.

No, I did. Which is why I am awake at such an hour this morning. It is 03:12 after all. Despite feeling very tired at around 9pm tonight, whilst playing Taxi Driver with Miss Hinds in Letchworth, (again..), I am as awake as a bullhunter with a Man United shirt on. I don't have football this morning, but I am refereeing this afternoon in a 2pm kick off. I will be alright. I'm looking forward to it!

And as for the title. Well, I can't stop listening to some song. It's disgusting, horrible, frightful. I heard it on Reggie Yates' Request Show on Radio 1 this afternoon and remembered the name. Since I have put it on my music playlist, it has been constantly on. It's French, (automatically making it vomit-worthy), has a strange sort of dance rhythm and a continuous lyrics. "Alors On Danse". It's terribly addictive. I'd rather be a fan of Justin Bieber.

Ok, I wouldn't.

There are a few more funny stories I could tell you, but that would involve slagging a couple of people off, and at this hour of the morning, I'm not prepared to risk conflict on the off chance that they might read this. Some of the stories are comical and tragic, (or on one occasion, both), so if you're interested, just ask.

£5 per story. Remember, I need the money.

Let's Make Something of the Day

I've gotten back into the horrible pattern of going to sleep at 4am and waking up at an undesignated time the wrong side of midday, and it's not something I need to get back into. As I was lying in bed at about 1pm today, (I know... Don't..), I could do 1 of 2 things.

1) I could stay here, in this, admittedly, very comfortable, warm and cosy bed and sleep away the afternoon in a manner that suggests I am not bothered about my own life and I don't really care what happens today.

or 2) I could get up, have a shower, get dressed and go and do a few things I needed to do.

Thankfully, I chose option 2 and I went about the day in a fairly productive fashion. Nothing major has happened today, (well.. not yet anyway!) I went to find the pitch I'll be refereeing on tomorrow, (a habit I've gotten into so I don't get lost finding new grounds, which would be the height of embarrassment), went to buy some sock ties, (yep, it's interesting stuff), and went to look for another place, which I found with consumate ease. I then applied for a couple of jobs, which I will receive no reply from and had dinner.

Which brings us to now. I have just gone downstairs and told Father Mitten rather quickly that I will not be attending training tonight. So quickly, that I had to repeat myself and continue the awkwardness for a while longer before receiving the hopeful reply and now I am waiting. For the wasters.

Yep, I'm going to town tonight, for the first time since the frightful episode in Manchester. I have already had one, "warning talk" from Mother Mitten and will no doubt receive another before I leave. It has to be expected after last time so I will just nod and say, "yeah" a lot before embarking on an easy-going night. Even if it's without the ridiculous innuendo-taking Colin. I have debated on whether to go out or not all week. Whether or not I want to go out drinking again, especially after last time, is a decision I have not yet made my mind up for. One's thing for sure though, "taking it easy" is an understatement for my drinking attitude for tonight.

And it's not just because of the obvious reasons either. I am refereeing tomorrow and it's all well and good finding your way to the ground, but if you're going to referee for 90 minutes with a banging headache and the feeling that you may vomit in the face of the Blue Number 9 is enough to keep me out of harm's way tonight. I will watch as Beddoe and fellow wasters sink slowly into their drinking trousers and I will laugh at the misfortune that will most probably arise, with circumstances yet to be found out.

I am looking forward to tonight, and I may drink a bit more than I say I am going to drink, but I will NOT, I repeat ... NOT ... be going all out. Anything but.

The weekend doesn't hold a lot. A game to referee tomorrow and a game to referee on Sunday with no playing time in between before we get back to the humdrum and loneliness of another "working week". Talking of work, I heard back from the coaching job who stated that the funding for the position(s) has been cut so they have halted all interviews. I was never wholly optimistic anyway... Never mind.

So, a bloggle may come your way in the early hours if the night proves to be a topic to talk about. If not, you know what to do!

Running from the Rozzers

I haven't done anything wrong. I just thought I'd let you know of that before I go on. I am not the new Peter Sutcliffe or ... Jim Devine...

No, this is more based on times when I'm in my car. People who have sat in the fabled passenger seats or the back seats, (one of which, perilessly, has no seatbelt), will know of my driving style and let's just say it isn't pedestrian. Pedestrians are more the ones in danger to be honest. I hardly ever stick to the speed limits, probably going at least 10mph faster than I should be, yet I've got a license as clean as the exterior of my car was when it was brand new. Which was a long time ago.

Oh, I have been stopped before. Both times when Burkitt is in the passenger seat. One time I was followed to McDonalds in which I was given a "severe caution" for going 50 in a 40 zone aswell as having my fog lights on, which is probably a crime that deserves a jail sentence now and another time I was pulled up at the lights for going 39 in a 30 zone and given another, "severe caution". It seems policing doesn't follow the same rules as football.

It seems I need 3 cautions to get sent off. Was the policeman that cautioned me, Graham Poll?

Even so, these days, despite a few days back reaching my 2nd anniversary as a road user, thus giving me 12 disciplinary points to play with instead of 6, I always tend to be looking over my shoulder, (hypothetically obviously.. Because that's just plain dangerous), for police cars following me and their funny blue lights lighting up. This evening, on the way back from another successful pre-season net, I was so paranoid that a police car was following me, even though it wasn't a Rozzer, but a normal Fiat Bravo. What is wrong with me?! When the day actually comes, (which is more probable than not), I will probably have a heart attack. Yet, I will insist at going over the speed limit, because travelling at 30mph is stupid. I could probably run faster. Maybe.

Still, today hasn't been so bad I suppose. A lot of sitting around doing nothing, as usual, but I did recieve a fantastic letter from the Beds FA, stating I had recieved a cup final this season. My 4th in 4 seasons, (despite missing last season's because of injury). I really wasn't expecting one this season, seeing as my season started after Xmas, but apparently I am good enough! I have heard words that my appointment is an especially good one aswell, which only increases anticipation ten-fold. 7th March is the golden day, in which I find out which match I have received. 7th March.

Until then, I will muddle on, trying to work out what's going on with this coaching job, whilst sitting around doing nothing in particular and avoiding police officers. Your life is on the right track, when you're avoiding police officers. You can't go wrong.

Waiting Patiently

It's very frustrating at the moment. Incredibly frustrating. Over 6 months till I begin my new life and at the moment, life couldn't be travelling more slowly. I have nothing to do, no one to be with, little activity to enjoy that doesn't involve being abused in some form or another and I'm starting to get a bit agitated by everything.

I haven't had the best of days. I didn't really talk about it earlier, but I haven't had the best of days as far as mood goes. I try not to let it affect me too much, but the pros said to try not to fight it too much, because I will have stages. And that's fine, it's bound to happen. It doesn't mean I have to embrace the bad moments though. The only thing they did say was to try and talk and open up more and I think I have, a bit. I mean, it's that time of night again. Past midnight, where thoughts start flooding out and the heart-to-hearts start to begin.

The only people around though are either people who say "awww sorry to hear that", or state the obvious and don't help at all. I don't blame them, I am much the same, but if opening up to people is meant to make you feel better, then I can't see the reasoning behind it. Not at the moment anyway. Sometimes, although it may be difficult, I do just need to be told what I need to hear.

Not what I want to hear.

And to be honest, I don't know how to explain it and why I'm even bothering, because I can't. And you lot don't want to hear about it.

David Cameron - Time Lord

I've never been a fan of the Tories. I've never been a fan of Conservatism. I've never been a fan of the rich and possibly famous. The natural ven-diagram of these 3 things all verge on one man.

And now he thinks he can change time. I mean, he can. And I can certainly see the positives behind it but I don't really see the point in going through all the effort just for an hour. You can get a lot done in an hour yes, but are things really bad as they are now? And most people will end up going to work/school/college/university, in mid-winter, in total darkness. And imagine if there was snow aswell. I imagine total chaos. And in today's world of obssessive health and safety obligations, (of which I wholeheartedly disagree with), I also imagine that this bizarre and needless idea will not happen.

Anyway. Whatever happens, it will not change the weather, just elongate it, but the weather hasn't ruined my weekend. Just one part of it. I postponed the game I was supposed to be refereeing on Saturday due to the one thing I always complain I hate as a player. A waterlogged pitch. But this pitch was underwater, so I had no choice. Telling the players and the managers was a difficult challenge in which I haven't encountered before and it didn't become easier when 25 people clambered round me to shout at my decision. It was more difficult than I imagined and became even more difficult when I asked for my half match fee, of which I was entitled to, for turning up. The home manager's face resembled thunder that had just been told to "f*** off!"

Still, as I drove the 20 minutes back to the hometown, I wasn't really cheerful. I had been shouted at a lot and although this is all part of the job in refereeing, it isn't nice when you haven't even started the match. Certainly a new situation there. But as Father Mitten says, "it's a good experience". Yes Dad.

Despite the rain, we did manage to play on Sunday morning, drawing 2-2 to the same rhinos we beat in the cup a couple of weeks back. They had a weakened team, and you could tell because the players were calling their keeper, "Fella." Still, we managed to throw away a 2-0 lead, of which I didn't care one bit, and I drove home with muddy knees, looking forward to the rest of the day, which was filled by cricket. One 1-hour cricket net, followed by another 2 hour net somewhere else, I certainly got the practice in and I felt really, really good. Bring on the season now I say!

If Cameron does bring in this new time change thing, it will be a good thing for cricket. Midweek matches won't be rushed to fit into daytime hours, and it will most likely be warmer for the length of any weekend matches.

There is still a chance I can get this job, despite the dreaded cancellation, but I fear the weekend element may scupper my cricket season. My heart wants to play cricket in the Summer, but my brain suggests, in a whispered voice, that it's time to grow up. We shall see.

El Crapico

After the event and sudden breakthrough of a successful afternoon, I hadn't thought about tonight's game at all. I had been looking forward to it all week, but the events of earlier almost threatened to overshadow the spectical of a local derby, despite ending up a dire match.

I suppose being chronological will make sense. I woke up fairly late, as I have slipped back into an awful sleeping pattern, of which I need to fix, and thought nothing of today. That was until I got a text from Saggers telling me had a possible job opportunity. Now... I wasn't entirely hopeful. This gentleman doesn't exactly always tell the truth and has a reputation of being a bit of a "bullshitter", despite his ability to get me the job at BP, which, at the time, was desperately needed. This job sounded too good to be true aswell. 25 hours per week, (not constant and time consuming), sports coaching, (exactly what I'm going to uni for), for a 6-month contract, (taking me all the way up to uni through the Summer). It sounded perfect, but I had my reservations. I told myself I wouldn't get my hopes up.

I still went along. Saggers seemed to think it was all through the Job Centre, so we headed down there, weaving in and out the alcoholics and the drug users and queued up behind the obvious illegal immigrants and the Poles until we were met by a tall, bald man who looked as confused as I was. Upon being told the name of the company, he went off and supposedly did a bit of digging and came back none the wiser. At this moment, I was thinking, "You were right not to get your hopes up". I wasn't going to give up easily though, so went down to this place and saw the woman running it herself.

It turns out, these positions are only for people on Jobseeker's, (i.e. not me!) But, she took my details and relevant experience anyway and said she will do her best to skirt round the benefits issue. So, it's in the balance. I should be finding out soon. Fingers, toes and everything else crossed.

I had a few hours to waste, which included being a taxi to the Mother and Sister Mitten. The customary trip to pick Mother Mitten up from work plus a supposed trip to the train station to pick up Sister Mitten. A lack of communication then occurred, but it didn't matter loads despite me sounding quite angry at being shipped around the busy streets of Bedford. Still, back in good time to leave for the main event.

It was dubbed by the Referee's Secretary as 'El Classico', seeing as it was a local derby, but it turned out to be 'El Crapico'. Tiny, the referee, (sorry Brian, but you are small!), diffused any situation before the match had even started, but there wasn't really any need. I was quite nervous before we started, using Buzzer Flags for the first time ever only gave me something else to think about, but the nerves vanished as soon as it became a non-game. It was quite possibly the best-behaved match I've seen this season. This matched with the differing qualities of the two sides meant an easy win for Kempston and an easy night for us. I'm not certain the amount of decisions I needed to make reached double figures and as soon as you could say, "Goal", the match was over and done with. Another one bites the dust.

I'll be sure to tell you how this job thing goes. It could swing either way, but if it goes well... I will be a happy Mitten. And it's not often we hear that phrase very often!

Music and Its Wonders

I have briefly mentioned how music can work in such a way that brings you back to neutrality. Down from a buzzing high before you need to get to sleep or back up from a down, the latter being a mode that I have been all to frequent to experience. I have a vast range of musical genres that I like. Anything from club and party music to old school rock and even a bit folk and country and western. A bit of Kenny Rogers is always useful to brighten a day.

However, I have just re-discovered the wonders of African music. A strange selection, you may be thinking, but it is incredibly relaxing. Seeing as it's gone midnight and I am drifting towards the time of day which only brings out the bad in me, I need relaxing so I can sleep. Because, quite frankly, I have never felt so awake. Habib Koite is a Senegalese musician, who's lyrics are in an unrecognisable language. You may recognise the name, and if you do, you will have owned a computer with Windows Vista installed on it. Mr.Koite's excellent array of African music is the sample music on Windows Media Player. About the only good thing Windows Vista was good for, but I feel I am drifting off topic.

There are so many things that music can do. Certain songs remind you of certain times of your life. Good times. 'Send Me on My Way' by Rusted Root is one of those songs you think you haven't got a clue about, but once you hear it, you'll know. Was the title song in one of my favourite films as a child, 'The Parent Trap'. Also briefly featured in 'Matilda' if I'm right in saying. 'We No Speak Americano' is a club song, probably hated by most people now for it's excessive play time on the radio, but was the signature song of the journey, the time spent and the resulting journey back from our fantastic holiday in the south of the country last Summer.

'America' by Razorlight is just a song that seems to crop up from time to time, even now, despite it being released years ago. It's the song in my ears right now in fact.

I was talking to Beddoe yesterday. We were talking about things, things that will remain in the knowledge of those who need to know, but we both admitted that I needed to open up more, despite his suggestions coupled with apologies every minute or so! He is right though, I do. And I think I am. I talked to him about things yesterday, and I'm talking to a couple of others who I feel can give me a good opinion of their thoughts coupled with the humour that is needed at tough times like this, and all is well. I do need them to understand however, that this transformation of Mitten is going to take time, and not happen overnight. I do get the feeling that they are expecting me to change almost instantly, which won't happen.

Even throughout the last year or so, I have been concentrating so much on my own head that I concentrate very little on other people's heads. Sometimes, I may have been a little greedy and expectant, especially at home, which is also something I am trying to change. Again, this will take time. However, someone asked me tonight to taxi them to Langford on Saturday night, (an hour round trip), which I think isn't wholly respectful, so refused. Too right.

I have started the long journey to change and it's going to be difficult, with tough times and better times. And I think music will play it's part in the change of Mitten.

Manic Euphoria

That is certainly the best way to describe it. Last night was exceptionally wierd, but it is certainly better than the rubbishy, downs I have. I don't have any explanation as to the mood I was in, but I gather it was kind of entertaining for the people who realised, although it was bordering on wierd at it's height.

If you have no idea what I'm on about, then you are not alone, because I don't either. I'm not too sure how to explain it. For a few hours last night, I wasn't doing anything amazing. Just sitting here on my bed, leaning against my customary 3 pillows, but the good mood I have had in the last few days seemed to get a bit out of control. It is the best way to describe it. My mind was racing, my heart was going a mile a minute, the edges of my limbs were tingling in a similar way to when you're a good sort of tipsy. I didn't have anything to drink, I swear, or any drugs.. God forbid! I just don't know what it was!

I was incredibly talkative aswell, finding the most random things hilariously funny, (which is harder to keep control of at 11pm at night when the parents are asleep just down the hall), and I do have the habit of saying things before properly thinking about them, which landed me in a couple of small holes throughout the "episode". For that is what it was, an episode. I didn't mean anything I said, and I hope they realise that! I'm sure they do.

At about midnight, it started to get a bit scary though. I have had this sort of thing happen to me before, although I have never really thought about them as much as I have today, or what triggers them. For some reason, I talked to one of Beddoe's flatmates who studies medicine who sarcastically told me after a few needless questions that he wasn't an expert in anything that didn't kill... Promising. I decided at midnight, to go outside, and after a scarily rowdy chat with a slightly tipsy Watty, went for a quick sprint round the block, in the freezing cold, before sprinting home, hurriedly saying goodbye to everyone and going to bed. Maybe a bit of pure silence would help calm me down! It did, after a couple of hours, and I was awoken by an impatient Kettle this morning back in the norm. Phew.

It was certainly a laugh. And they are certainly better than the opposite that happens much more often, but I wouldn't want it to happen too often. I don't know what it is, and to be honest, I'd rather keep it that way. It doesn't do anyone any harm, and apparently it bought a smile to a few people's faces, and I was quite clearly happy. So what's the problem!

I did think that after this, I may feel the reverse effects and feel a bit down for a few days, but I've been all good today. Keeping occupied by being a fat git with Kettle. After he bought me a bacon roll from the shops of the good ol' days, we headed to Pizza Hut for a buffet after being roped in by the TV advert. Upon seeing it, we agreed to go and also agreed we were the puppets of media manipulation. Oh no...

Still, I've got my match to look forward to later, which will gain me a few extra pounds despite the travelling and a week full of activity which I described yesterday. I organised a mini-school reunion for next Saturday, that I am looking forward to already, and my fears of feeling down have yet to materialise. And long may it stay that way! If only!

The Story of St.Valentine

The heart-shaped head of Saint Valentine lived in 14th Century Ancient Rome don't you know. I can't be too certain if his head was shaped like a heart, but for the sake of fiction, we shall say it is. I'm not saying either, that the legend of St.Valentine is simply a story to create another day in the calendar in which cliched words are written in a card and gift-giving take place. I'm sure he did exist and I'm sure he is the patron saint of Love, but to make a day of it, is in my view, not in good taste.

I seem to remember this time last year, bloggling furiously at how I thought St.Valentine's Day was a commercial excuse for big business to cash in on the feelings of human beings. I do agree somewhat however, that it was probably part of me being cynical, as I am not one for relationships myself. I suppose if I was to take the same view this year, I would be hung, drawn and quartered by many of my friends who have found happiness since this time last year, and good for them! I am not saying that this is wrong, but to make a day in which to express your love, is. If a couple are in love, you should be expressing your feelings all year round instead of hurryingly lambasting your way to town to buy a rushed gift as to not leave your partner feeling unwanted. I'm not saying that everyone does this, but I have seen a fair few men leave petrol stations today, with a curled up bunch of roses under his arm, with the £3 price tag clearly visible in black felt tip pen.

I think most women take it more seriously than their counterparts. Most men are not the romantic type, where I think women like the romance surrounding the day. Then again, I might be entirely wrong. My track record would certainly think so. And before you ask, I genuinely did recieve a card today, albeit from a person who refuses to reveal themselves. Frankly, if they're not serious about it, then I can't be bothered with them. And if they didn't reveal themselves, then chances are, they're not bothered either! To put a '?', as the sender, kind of ruins it.

I always thought that was a strange name to have... And they all seem to turn up on this day, of all days!

Anyway. Seeing as today is Monday, we have a whole week ahead of us! And, me being in a surprisingly and some would say, dangerously, good mood for the past few days, am looking forward to a week of activity! And for once, I am not being sarcastic! Tomorrow, I am lining a County Cup Semi Final, albeit far, far away in Leighton Buzzard. On Wednesday, I will bat like a one-armed Smurf in my 2nd indoor net of the pre-season before lining 'El Classico' on Thursday before my usual 3-day assault on the football pitch once more.

So, once again, I am left sitting here thinking about the adventurous week I'm about to have and quite frankly, seeing as I'm still in a good mood, (a record length for the past few years!)

... That's fine by me!

Moan, Moan, Grumble, Shout, Moan

A weekend full of refereeing has come to a close. Yesterday's match was highly uneventful, with a 6-0 demolition from the top of the league and there was very little incident.

This morning's match, however, there was plenty of it. The nerves that had been apparent in the last few matches I have officiated were not there this morning, suggesting that I have gotten used to refereeing again. The few matches I have officiated have passed without incident, which is good, but that run was always going to come to an end sooner or later. It turns out it was sooner.

I am still trying to get up to 100% efficiency with this refereeing lark. I always knew that this mornings match was going to be, "interesting". 1st vs 3rd, with only a meer point seperating them basically spells 'title decider'. It really didn't help that I knew most of one team and even a couple of players from the other team who I have played cricket against occasionally. A tough 90 minutes were in store, and I knew it. However, I was there and there was no way I was going to back out of this one. So I went on the offensive.

Before the kick off, I gave a much more confident pep talk to the skippers, indicating I was going to take no prisoners when it came to shouting/complaining/moaning/, (or a mixture of the 3), but it turned out they didn't hear a single word of what I had said. Within the 1st minute, Goldington pumped the ball forward, towards their striker who was walking BACKWARDS from an offside position with his hands in the air. For those of you who know the offside rule, you'll know he is as inactive as Mubarak's presidency and, despite the linesman, (the defending teams manager, no less), flagging furiously, I let play continue. Needless to say, someone else run through and slotted the ball into the back of the net. Shit.

I know I was completely right. 100%, but despite being told just a minute before that I wasn't going to accept any 'in your face shouting', the skipper and a couple of others run at me screaming their heads off. I'm used to this by now. Even without refereeing for 9 months, I've had enough people do that to me to know to just stay calm in the literal face of adversity and explain my decision. Only when he carries on, do you issue a yellow card. And that's what happened. I was in for a tough morning.

So, 1 minute down, 89 left. For the first 10 minutes after that, tackles flew in and words were exchanged but I'm glad with how I dealt with it. The voice of advice from coaches and assessors whirled round my head. "Stamp it out and they'll soon concentrate on playing football". I tried to blow up for anything and everything that I could credibally get away with and it seemed to calm down after a while. A couple of reckless tackles flew in, deserving a yellow and a couple more yellows were dished out for persistently moaning or complaining about decisions. Both of these teams were full of 18 and 19 year olds, so you can imagine the complaining. I have developed just enough backbone down the years though to develop selective hearing and get on with it. At half-time it was 4-1 to GNG, who had gone on the rampage for the last 20 minutes of the half and netted 4 in reply to the 1st minute "controversial" goal.

At half-time, I evaluated my own performance. I was pleased with how I dealt with the 1st minute incident and the following 10 minutes where it all went a bit crazy. Otherwise, bar a couple of minor decisions, I thought I had done OK. However, when I looked up, I realised I was about to receive a 2nd opinion. An assessor, nicknamed Flanners, was assessing on the other pitch and seeing as it was half-time over there aswell, he had come over to give me a couple of pointers. His advice was fantastic. There had been a small confrontation at the end of the 1st half, where 2 players squared up, but there was nothing malicious there. I had called them both over and given them a ticking off, but Flanners said to really sell that this sort of thing wasn't acceptable. He noticed I had become a little rushed by the players, a true statement, and told me to stay as calm as possible and make the game go at the pace I wanted it to.

With his words ringing in my ears, the 2nd half began well enough. I gave another yellow, in which I took my time over, for a reckless tackle. It stayed 4-1, until Goldington got 2 goals back in quick succession to make it 4-3, and a certain interesting finish. It wasn't what I really needed, as I was concentrating as hard as I could on doing everything right and keeping control of the game. When it turned 4-3 though, rather predictably, things started to heat up again and this was the stage of the game where I really needed to keep my head on the game. As is usual with me though, my concentration slipped and I missed a couple of rash tackles sparking furious words from players and coaches alike. The game was settled though when the GNG left-winger produced a magical overhead kick, similar to Rooney's of yesterday, to make it 5-3. A highly-contested affair then. But how had I done?

Flanners came over again, and congratulated me on playing a fantastic advantage that he had spotted, (despite having to watch his game of course!), but pulled me up on not going back to caution the player, which it was a caution. He wasn't critical, but helpful. A good guy, Flanners is. Looking back on the game after the emotion of it all had calmed down, I think I did alright. It was a difficult game to referee, and seeing that this was only my 3rd middle in 9 months, I did well to not let it spill over into uncontrollable territory. Overall then, I am pleased with how it panned out, despite the grumbles of the players.

But that is football. Players are never happy.

In other news, I have a week of nothing unless you count cricket nets on Wednesday, Refereeing, "El Classico" on Thursday, (you will definitely get a match report on that if it goes ahead!), training on Friday before another weekend of football. You know what? I don't know why I complain so much!

And also, this rather boring and uninteresting post, (if you don't like football anyway), is my 300th! Long may it continue.

Better

Today has been a good day. It all started off in crazy fashion, as I was awoken by Mother Mitten's squealing down the telephone to her colleague who had got bored after 30 minutes of another shift in this shop.. I tried getting back to sleep, but then I was awoken yet again by my mobile. It was a delivery man.

"Is this a Mr.Statham?"

It clearly wasn't, but I knew what it was about. I help run a midweek cricket team, and 'Mr Statham' (a.k.a Kenny), is the 2nd member of the Aspen CC Committee! He had ordered kit samples and sent them to my address, but in his name, creating mountaneous confusion, especially for 9 o'clock in the morning.. Still, it woke me up, albeit in a harrumph and a bad mood and I went downstairs and saw a pay slip...

It was from BP, and I have to say, I was expecting it. I didn't work 2 weeks in arrears for nothing, but I wasn't expecting over £500. This was fantastic news although Mother Mitten seemed to dominate further proceedings by suggesting she take £300 for car insurance. You see, I had shelled out £300 on Father Mitten's broken exhaust because he couldn't make it home in time to pay, and instead of paying it back, they have taken it for insurance purposes. Still, cannot complain one bit!

The main event of the day though, was refereeing. After Thursday's poor performance, I was rather nervous about today although in hindsight there was no need to be. I was much more confident than last week, and easier conditions plus a 6-0 win for the league leaders sort of dampened out any major event. 90 minutes past with confident signals, fantastic communication and respect from all parties, except for the risk of needless "handbags" after the final whistle, which were immediately stamped out by me. I went home, £23 richer and looking forward to tomorrow mornings game. A top of the table clash, so will probably be more eventful than today's encounter.

Otherwise, it's the same old story of sitting here not doing a lot. I'm afraid. Never mind.

Performance Grade 'D'

It's what I'd give myself after yesterday's assistant referee performance. I wasn't really on the game from the first minute, despite looking forward to it as usual. However, I shall put it down to, "one of those days", and I look forward to my weekend of fixtures coming up!

I'm not sure what happened yesterday. After about 30 seconds, I NEARLY made an awful offside decision before just about amending my decision without anyone noticing and I made a few other poor decisions that I acknowledged were poor. My concentration and general fitness weren't great either, but I simply put that down to my dodgy ear. It got so bad, that I could hardly hear anything out of it. Sort of good, as I couldn't hear any abuse that was going on in the stands behind me! Not good, because I found it hard to concentrate on anything else.

That's also been the story of my day so far. After the necessary trips to the doctors, (notice the plural), I haven't really been able to concentrate on anything. Just sitting here watching videos and listening to music. Just relaxing, bordering on laziness. I have a busy weekend coming up, so I just about deserve a few hours of nothing. Even if I've had unlimited hours of nothing for a few weeks now.

Slight delay in typing there, as I just recieved a phone call from 'Michael Smith' who claimed to be from the 'Las Vegas Corporate Centre' telling me I'd won the jackpot. Way to use the most generic names ever in trying to trick me into winning mountaneous amounts of much needed money, "Michael".

Anyway. My days have been full of nothing, so there is nothing to fill you in on. My weekend is guaranteed to be much more interesting however, thank God!

The Dream Lord

This last week or so, going to sleep and waking up at a normal time, has been dreamy. Literally. Every night, I've had the most ridiculous of dreams ranging from trips with famous people and randomers to dreaming out sporting aspirations. I'll go through a few, seeing as I'm bored, (obviously), and have nothing better to do this lunchtime.

I can't remember the days they came on. I'm not that good. However, one dream cut straight to me sitting in the front seat of a limo, with Father Mitten being the driver. It was Christmas Day and, against Mitten family tradition, we were heading to Megabowl. Why not? Perfectly reasonable. I never got to find out if it was open or not, but it must of been. I was sitting in the front seat, with the rest of the Mitten family behind me and at the back a whole array of celebrities had come for the ride. Colin Firth, star of the great 'The King's Speech' was sitting next to the window. Andrew Flintoff, the ex-England cricketer sat next to him with a bottle of Stella and next to him, actor Daniel Radcliffe with his lightning bolt scar struck across his forehead. And sat next to the other window? Mr Blobby. What a line up! I can't really remember what happened, as I was scared awake by Mr.Blobby screaming, "Blobby Blobby!" at the top of his rather strange voice.

Another dream I had this week was me going to the world famous tennis tournament in Melbourne, The Aussie Open. Of course, this event finished in real life just a couple of weeks ago, and seeing as I spent most of that fortnight awake during the night, I watched some of it. The details of the courts were quite familiar then. However, I wasn't exactly sitting at home watching it in my dream. I was watching it, but I was actually there. It took me a while to figure out where I was, but it soon became apparent as I had Andy Roddick screaming at me, complaining that the winner he had just hit was 'in'. Yep. I was the umpire. I managed to keep the dream alive, by replying but woke up as soon as Roddick chucked the racket at my face. I did that thing, where you feel like you're falling from the ceiling.. Nasty stuff..

However, last night, I had the best dream ever. Have you ever had a dream one night, that turns out to actually happen? Maybe a year, 5 years, 10 years down the line. It actually happens. Well, this one won't, but if it did... Wow! This dream is particularly vivid..

I was at Lord's Cricket Ground. Playing in the 1st Ashes Test and I was opening the batting with a certain Chris Watt! Don't ask Watty, please. We walked down the famous Lord's steps on to the pitch and Chris asked me whether I wanted to face the first ball, or him. I told him he could. I was too nervous. So nervous, that I'd accidentally brought out a broken bat to bat with. I didn't want to humiliate myself by going back and changing it, so carried on. Chris was facing the first ball from Brett Lee. And, Brett Lee killed him. Now, I know I said before, "I'll be happy if this actually happened", but obviously not this bit! Yep. Watty was killed instantly by a vicious bouncer, so he retired hurt. Out came Kettle to bat at number 3, and I won't bore you with detail but we both scored triple centuries and we declared on 623-0. Remember, I had a broken bat! What an achievement! The dream skipped a bit, and suddenly we had taken the final wicket to win the 1st test by an innings and 600 runs. A test match record. Just a shame about Watty.

I don't know why I've had a ridiculous amount of ridiculous dreams recently. I'm no expert on the matter.

Back to reality, I played 5-a-side last night, despite being very tired and did alright. It went rather quickly so it didn't feel like long before I was home and tucked up in bed. Tonight, the PLAN is to referee in the NSYL, like usual on a Thursday night, but seeing as it's been raining all day, my guess is that it might just be called off. A "waterlogged pitch", my arse!

Not a lot else to say, apart from Father Mitten nicking my car. I've gotta go and pay for his repairs this afternoon aswell, but I will, of course, be getting the money back. As for the dreams, I won't ever be getting them back!

4 Years of Junk

I got the small straw as a child. General sibling convention states that the older sibling gets the bigger room, the main reason being that they are around earlier to choose! Leaving the younger sibling with the choice of sleeping in the smaller room or the garden shed. As a 3-month old baby, I thought living in the shed may be hazardous and attract social services, so opted for the smaller room.

The problem with the smaller room, is that it is fairly small. The walls are completely empty apart from a large MAFC banner that we stole from the cup final last season. The door only just opens without colliding with the single bed and the wardrobe, chest of drawers and rather small desk fit perfectly along one side of the wall, with the bed practically filling the rest of the room. Falling out of bed on the wrong side in the morning then, is impossible.

This afternoon, after applying for a couple of promising positions that will no doubt recieve no reply, Mother Mitten decided we needed a clear out. My room resembled a dodgy Sunday morning car boot sale, so I agreed and seeing as Father Mitten had stolen the Mittenmobile in which to go to work, my options of activity, if there were any at the start of this long day, had taken a severe hit. Some of the things we found were... ancient. Some, were amazing!

I found my Coldplay album that I thought had been stolen when the Mittenmobile had been broken in to, Mother Mitten found a lot of refereeing accessories that had mysteriously disappeared down the back of the chest of the drawers and amount of DVD's I own has amazingly doubled since this morning, with many of them celebrating a belated reunion with their original cases. The TV, which hasn't worked for a good amount of months after being taken over by aliens, now resides in the garage, along with the PS2 and the controller that technically belongs to Kettle but has a button missing, (it wasn't me) and many old books and music that could mistakenly belong to Grandad Mitten from the 50's. Mother Mitten agreed that the PS2 was vastly out of date, but thought they had already brought out the PS4... No Mum.

So, after a couple of hours and a room full of dust that I am trying to coax out of the window with the promise of a freshly mown lawn to impregnate, my bedroom now resembles an empty, rather lonely place. The wardrobe, which once had a couple of old laptop boxes and a broken cricket helmet on, stands naked in the corner. The chest of drawers now has nothing on top of it apart from a few large piles of DVD's, a couple of football league handbooks and a new 'Mug of Pencils'. My small-ish desk, once covered in needless University prospectus', (is the plural of 'prospectus', prospectii?!), many, many old match reports and programmes and piles of old A-level work, (no laughing at the back, please), is now completely bare apart from the annoying alarm clock that sits alone at the front of the desk, with no friends.

After a vigorous hoovering of the place and a rather embarrassing inspection of my dressing gown that needs to be thrown away for good, Mother Mitten sat down. Oh dear. Her latest attempt to decipher what is going on in that head of mine, which was just as unsuccessful as the last attempts she made. After a bit of nodding and grunting from me, (sorry, I go into my shell!), she had a nosey at my Sister's facebook and left to continue Winter/Spring clean the house. I did tell myself I was going to open up more, but at the moment, I am content with trying not to think about things too much. I will work on getting a job, and working on the uni stuff, whilst trying to occupy myself as much as feasibly possible. Right now, I am trying to keep away from the depressing subjects, and it's working at the moment. Which is fine by me.

Still, I've got 5-a-side tonight, which is something, despite my ears being severely blocked and painful. I'm thinking I might play a defensive role tonight. Be the 5-a-side version of Vidic. Solid.

And then I'll come home and stare into space. Much more space than I'm used to!

Possibilities

I'm currently listening to Bon Jovi's 'Living on a Prayer', one of the greatest songs ever, with THE best intro to a song ever created. I've never really had a religion, despite going to church a few Sundays with Grandma back in the day. Just to keep her company. I'm sure God, if there is one, would have appreciated that.

But today, amazingly, I am suddenly back into some sort of normality as I've awoken at 7am with a full day ahead. Of course, it's a Tuesday, as it always seems to be when I awake from a weekend of slumber and strange patterns. And once again, it's 7.30, and I have exhausted my options for today. Obviously, there are things I can do later, that cost money of course, but otherwise I am stuck. A likely trip to the Docs is the only certain thing that's happening to me today, and let's face it... That isn't what you'd call, "a day filler".

Despite this, the last time I said I had a day of nothing, I managed to find a couple of people who were willing to spend their time in my company. The decision to spend money these days though is a decision I need to make wisely and sensibly. Saying that, I have matches to referee on Thursday night, Saturday afternoon and Sunday morning this week, so could very feasibly spend some money today and easily gain it back as the week draws to a close. MAFC do not have a match this week, so I have made myself available to referee. In the same league... Not the same division however. Remember, we are not Italians. We are not guilty of corruption.

So, I have a bit of money to spend, but what exactly can I do with it. With no one around, bar a couple of people that will probably have better things to do, it looks like I'm going to have to find my own way to occupation.

Unlike recycling, the possibilities are definitely not endless.

A Failure at the School of Life

Well. I say that, but I haven't really had a day at all. For some unknown reason, that will probably stay that way, I went to sleep at 5.30am on Saturday night. I didn't go out. I stayed in and did nothing in particular, surprise surprise, but just didn't feel tired. In hindsight, it was an awful decision. In my previous experiences of, "not feeling tired", if I try and go to sleep, I don't. I just lay there. Looking up at the black ceiling or the pale blue wall for hours on end, before I start to feel tired.

But I couldn't sleep for the desired amount of hours because I had to get up for football at 9am. A task these days that I look forward to, mainly because there is nothing else to look forward to, but, needless to say, I didn't want to. There were a few reasons for this.

1) I had only had roughly 3 hours sleep, and seeing as I am 90% of the way to becoming a fully-fledged sleep monster, this isn't good.

2) I had gone to sleep, 3 hours previously, feeling fairly tired, knowing I was not going to be the best person to talk to in the morning. What I didn't know is that I'd wake up with a vicious earache and subsequent blockness of my whole head, making me feel far worse.

And 3) We were playing in an important cup quarter-final, against a team renound for their aggressive and needless ability to bully teams off the park.

We had lost to these bunch of rhinos 3-1 in the league earlier in the season, basically because we folded under their ability to kick the living shit out of us. Today, we won 5-4 after extra time, a result that delighted the whole team after a rough and tumble 120 minutes of hard graft. It was considered a, "great team performance, where everyone had put in the hard yards".

And then we come to me. I felt awful. I didn't want to be there. By the time we started at 10.30, my right ear was in dreadful pain, my head was spinning and I felt like I was going to throw up at any moment. For once, my enthusiasm for the game had not kicked in and for the first 20 minutes, in which we went 2-0 down, I resembled a stroppy child who had been forced to go in goal. I mean, I tried, but my ability to do anything was stretched. Knowing I was going to have to referee later made me feel worse, if at all possible, and I was nowhere. The first goal had me beaten at my near post, the cardinal sin for any goalkeeper, and the 2nd, I was beaten as I needlessly rushed out of goal. I have no idea why I did it, it just felt like the right thing to do. It clearly wasn't. We went into the half-time interval, (apologies for the Superbowl type talk), 2-1 down, as we scored a penalty just before the whistle. Needless to say, the Rhinos went spare at the decision, with the referee cowering under their complaints.

At half-time, I made a decision. The manager of the team I was refereeing was there watching, as he also plays for us, but was "cup-tied" today. I told him I couldn't possibly referee this afternoon, as standing in goal was making me exhausted. He had no choice but to accept it.

This made me feel a tiny bit better. I only had to survive an extra 45 minutes and then I could go home.. Sort of. I can't even remember what the sequence of goals were, but it ended up 3-3 at the full-time whistle. Their 3rd goal incidentally, resembled the Ronaldinho free-kick that strangely beat David Seaman in the Quarter-Final of the 2002 World Cup. Yeah, that one. It was just one of those days. So, I had to survive an extra 30 minutes, and despite thinking that I would give anything, even a loss, just to go home now, I did put in a slightly better performance in extra time. We went 5-3 up, and then I made a ridiculous double save, somehow, which had my team-mates looking at me in a way that suggested, "You've been shit all day, but where the HELL did that come from?!"

But, given I was having a dreadful morning, they scored from the resulting corner, so it ultimately meant nothing. So, 5-4, but the team we were playing were absolutely spent. They're called 'Old Boys', and despite being a good footballing side, their title of being "old", meant they're fitness wasn't up to ours. We got awarded a 3rd penalty of the match in the last minute, where the defender should really have been red-carded, but wasn't, and Arran, (on a hat-trick of penalties), hit the post. But it didn't matter. The final whistle went and I let out a sigh of relief.

So, I drove home. Thankfully knowing I could go straight to bed, but not until Mother Mitten had another go at me for, "giving up too easily", blahdy blahdy blah. I felt annoyed, but the feeling of my head exploding and tiredness meant I just didn't care. I went straight to sleep.

For the first hour, I just lay there. Thinking about if I was going to be a failure at the school of life. I thought about it. When you're from the ages of 0 to 16, life is fine. Easy. After 16 though, life is just one big problem. From 16 to 18, you get majorly stressed out by "life-changing" exams and what you think your peers think of you, whilst spending hours draped over mountains of books as you try and work towards your desired future. From 18-22, you're either at work, being looked down upon because of your age, and earning a crap wage to work your way up the ladder or you're at university, slaving over more books, trying to scrape enough money to buy your food whilst also trying to be sociable enough to not be seen as a social outcast, still working towards the "Golden Future". When you leave university, at 22 or 23, you spend the next few years trying to find work, which at the moment is nion impossible, and trying to earn enough money to pay rent on your newly-acquired flat, (because your parents want freedom) plus the bills, food, probably a car and possibly the girl or guy you've met in a bar somewhere, whilst also contemplating that you've got to pay back the student debts, (which most people that age, are), leaving no money for yourself to do the things you want unless you want even more debt to pay back in the future. The only thing you do is constantly work, work, work, so you can keep your head above water. A few years down the line, you've possibly spent more money on the flash wedding your partner wants and there is also a couple of kids on the way. Either that, or you're on your own, with no one to talk and sitting on your laptop, looking at Eastern European girls. This means, you've still got to pay rent on the flat, or if you've got a house, the mortgage, the food, bills, car and now the expensive necessities for a baby or 2, and you're having to start paying back the student debts because you're now old enough, and therefore earn enough, to start paying back Cameron and his cronies. At 30, the kids are old enough to start asking for sweets and toys and birthdays and Christmas and money to go to a party, so any spare money you have has gone to them, leaving you stuck indoors watching 'Silent Witness'. At 40, the kids are 15, 16, 17 and are complaining to you that they are not liked by anyone and you can't get a moments rest because they are always fighting or passing out in the street because of gang crime or alcohol, and, despite paying back all of the student debts, you are still paying for a mortgage, the car, a holiday, food and bills. By the time, you're 45, your life looks as if it may be turning out good. The kids have gone, the mortgage is paid off, despite needing food and paying ever-increasing bills and the car to pay for, but suddenly your Mum is now too old to look after herself, so you are now implied to look after them, so you are back at square one. By the time you're free of everything, you're the darker side of 50 and you are starting to think about getting old yourself, although I concede, you are probably still young enough to start enjoying life a bit more. This is until you reach 70 plus, where you start to feel the effects of age, and you are starting to need the help of your own children, bossing you around and feeling like they have to look after you, enduring the joint-ruining, bone-disappearing, mind-numbing diseases that usually accompany old age, until you eventually die in a badly-run NHS hospital with tubes in your nose and a grey face.

Sorry. It's true. Most of your life is spent worrying and being in money trouble and what's the point in that? The only times I can see where your life is good is from the ages of 0 to 16, (where the first 10 years of that, you are too young to realise that you are eventually going to get old), and from the ages of 50 to 70, where life could be concieved as good, if you are lucky enough to stay out of trouble, and you have been very, very, very wise with your spending. Otherwise, it's just spent being stressed. People even admit that good things, like going on holiday, is stressful, so why do it?! This morning, after being shouted at by Mother Mitten, and her subsequent favourite phrase, "Well, that's life!" I just thought, "Why am I even bothering with it?" Even if I do get out of the mess I'm in at the moment, chances are, I'm just going to walk in to many more problems, until I reach, what I call, the "Golden Years", until I get too old to enjoy anything and die with half of your mind missing. If this is indeed life, then why bother living it?

You know that thing. The thing about whether you see a half-full glass or a half-empty one? You know what I see at the moment? An empty one.

You're all going to say, "but you've got university coming up", and I do. You're right. But, despite trying to convince myself that I am 100% certain I want to go. I'm not. Sorry, I'm not. I'm fairly convinced that this is what I want to do, and I imagine that I will be a changed man when I go, but, in reality, I might not be. I may just go there, end up like I always have been, except with nothing to fall back on. I feel like I have no other choice but to take the massive gamble. And if that fails, do you know what I'm going to do? Take the first plane to Switzerland.

It might be seen as being extremely pessmistic, and yes, maybe it is. But I'm sitting here at 3.30am, completely awake, wondering how the hell I'm going to survive all of the above if my Mum is right.

And remember, your parents are always right.



P.S: This blog will soon have a few adverts lighting up the right hand side of the screen. If you click on them, I get money. Simples. And if I have money, I will be able to do things, and you won't have to read my moaning hardly at all! Incentive surely?

Can You Feel the Nervousness?

I was very nervous about this afternoon. I'm not so sure why exactly, but today saw the first time I've refereed an adult's match in over a year. And even a year ago, I had only done a few. I have done plenty of youth matches, mostly around my age group, but there is something different about adult football.

For one, the matches are a 2.30pm kick off on a Saturday afternoon. It makes you feel rather professional! And secondly, adults have the ability to get under your skin more. Being a young referee, they know they might be able to get away with a few words because of my age. The general lesson I learnt in the few matches I did last season, was that adults can be more aggressive in their words, but know where to draw the line. In comparison with 16-18 year olds, who just whinge constantly until you get fed up with them.

2.30pm came, rather quickly, and I gave a shrill blast to call the captain's in. A strong first whistle signals the confidence, which is just what I did. My words to the captains though, didn't seem very strong and I wasn't really happy with how that and the first 20 minutes of the match went. I was incredibly nervous, not really stamping my foot down authoritively. It didn't really matter in hindsight. The first 20 minutes was a very shaky affair from everyone, with the windy conditions making it difficult to play. After that, and a couple of good decisions, my confidence grew quickly and it was all OK from then on. I still had to tell myself to wake up at half-time, but the 2nd half went much better, and overall I enjoyed the game. Only the one yellow card in the 89th minute, for the goalscorer who made it 2-1 to the heavy underdogs, who then decided to take his shirt off and whirl it around his head, Fabrizio Ravanelli stylee. (Google him).

For some reason, the Laws of Association Football, (I know, it is the official name!), state that any player removing his shirt or lifting it above his head will receive a caution. I am the referee, therefore I follow the laws! It is a stupid law I think though. It doesn't hurt anyone and an interesting goal celebration makes everyone smile, (except the team it was against!)

And yes, they are LAWS, not RULES!

So all in all, a good first game back. I'm in more familiar territory later on though, as the cup quarter-final for MAFC finally arrives. It's against the team who we beat in the final last season, but subsequently bullied us off the park earlier in this season. I'm not sure if I'm looking forward to it to be honest. Their striker, if I remember correctly, was a nasty piece of work. In the afternoon, I am refereeing Brickhill Wanderers 'A' vs Brickhill Wanderers 'B', Under 18s, which will certainly be a challenge. But I'm looking forward to it! I feel after today, I am more than capable of dealing with them lot!

So be expecting a couple of match reports tomorrow! Apologies for the boring football posts, to anyone who is non-sporty. It is all I can look forward to at the moment. The only thing seperating weeks of boredom. But these weekends are certainly better than BP weekends!

Ciao.

Here We Are Again

Here we are again. Early morning, with the wind blowing a gale outside and a long, very long, day ahead. It's 6:30, I can hear my Dad waking up for another long day at the factory while most people are asleep. Not me though. I had my quota of sleep last night. So much in fact, that there is no chance I can sleep more today, so this is it.

Mother wanted me to have a, "productive day". I'm not sure what the meaning of that is at the moment, and what she means by, "productive", but it's not exactly going to be that meaningful. I mean, yes, I can search for longer for a job but that only takes so long. What else can I do? I mean, seriously, what else is there? Not as if I have an essay to complete, or even a part-time job to go to. I would like to, but it's just not how it is at the moment.

Someone suggested to me that I should start a "project". Again though, what do they mean by a "project"? Like, write a novel or create a portfolio of pictures? It doesn't sound overly interesting. I have tried to create a basis to write some short stories before but they never turn out that great. I run out of things to do very quickly.

I tried to get to sleep earlier. From about 12.30, but proper sleep never came round. I closed my eyes for 15 minutes at a time, before opening them to stare at the dark ceiling for a while, before trying again. This pattern was only broken by an intoxicated Monkey who wanted to chat about the same old things. But his life is far better than mine at the moment... I finally decided to fully get up at about 3.30, knowing I was just lying there doing nothing. Only becoming more awake.

Kettle was still awake. In the university manner of, "stay up late, get up late" and told me a few very amusing stories of his flat mates ability to run the 400 metres at an impossible rate, (How he can knock 13 seconds off the world record, I don't know!) and how he had a Swedish model girlfriend etc etc. People like this amuse me. Making up ridiculous and impossible lies. I have a friend, (well, more of an acquaintence), that is adament he DJ'd i n Ibiza with David Guetta last year and a friend, who still lives on my road, that once claimed his cousin was part of the GB Bobsleigh team at the Winter Olympics in Turin in 2007. I mean, really? Why say that?

I'm not certain Kettle knew how much these ridiculous stories improved my mood, as I was drifting in and out of down time up to that moment. Monkey aswell, cheered me up, despite his drunken state, at a time where I was telling myself to stop being like I was.

Friends, hey. What would I do without them?

Blown Away at Eastbourne

Yesterday saw the eventual trip down, and then right a bit, to Eastbourne to check out where I would be going when September finally comes. Sussex Downs College, in the seaside town of Eastbourne. Or more importantly to some people, a 30 minute walk from Brighton!

We left at around 9:45am, for the nearest makes no difference, 3 hour drive. A monstrous straight line trip down the M1 and M25, before driving through a very picturesque south-coast postcard-esque hilly region before reaching the college. 2 hours early... Mother Mitten always likes to make sure we're not late, giving ourselves enough time to get organised and find our bearings, so we drove a little further down the coastline, feeling the vicious coastal winds almost blowing the car into the sea. After driving round an accident, where a car had snapped in half after appearing to glance a van, we parked and walked along the seafront.

Heads bowed against the wind, wrapped up like a Christmas present, we eventually found a "Worlds Famous" Harry Ramsden's and enjoyed a fish n' chip lunch, (or in my case a "Scampi and Chicken Special" followed by a Chocolate Puddle Pudding), and made our way back to the car, in much quicker time seeing as the wind was behind us. We made the 5-minute drive back to the college, and found we were half an hour early. So we had a look round.

I must make clear that I had already accepted my place on to this course. I will be coming here, 100%, and yes, I know I hadn't seen anything before making possibly the biggest decision my life has yet to throw at me, but it seems my acceptance was right on the money. This place was, amazing.

Football pitches, cricket nets, tennis courts, 3rd Generation pitches, a professional athletics track. Just a few of the facilities that are there and they're not your bog-standard things either. There were 16 indoor cricket nets alone, (Yep, I counted), with possibly the same number outside plus more football pitches than I could bother to count and the Athletics track. Wow.

I'm not an athlete. I don't plan to be and am nowhere near good enough at any track and field event to even bother contemplate becoming one, but these facilities were serious. A brand spanking new track surrounded a plush lawn where javelin-throwers were having a practice. The stands around the track looked like they could hold at least a thousand. Imagine that when it's full!

All of this is before I mention that they have just finished building and have subsequently just opened the new £750,000 gym complex. And no, that isn't a typo! Oh My *Expletive* God!

At 3pm, we headed back inside, my mind teeming with smiles and thoughts about what it would be like to spend most of my time here. Surrounded by it all. We were welcomed by a bearded man, Mark, who would be conducting the presentation and subsequent tour and he beckoned us all along to a room where the presentation would take place.

The 40-minute presentation was informative and told us all we needed to know about the course and what would happen and Mark was funny and seemed like a very approachable guy.

I do appreciate I will find this difficult. Getting back into education, when I wasn't exactly good at it back in the A-Level days, will be immensely difficult for someone like me. I'm not particularly motivated, self-dependant or am the sort of person who can knuckle down to work for enough hours in the day independantly, but I will sure as hell give it my best effort. This evening, whilst ploughing through my options for accommodation, (I'll get to that bit), I went downstairs to chat to the rents. A rarity, I'm sure you can imagine.

I planned to tell them about where I was thinking of living and what I would like to do. Instead, after about 10 minutes of discussing it, they started ranting about how much work is going to be involved and whether they think I will be able to do and all of that. I KNOW ALL OF THIS. I wouldn't be going if I didn't think I could do it, so why are they saying this to me? It's almost as if they don't want me to go and they don't think I can do it. "I'll help you if you can help yourself".. I don't want to talk about cliched pre-concieved ideas... I wanted your opinion about the accomomodation. And then you wonder why I don't talk to you that often..

ANYWAY! I will put that out of my mind for the time being. It is my life, after all.

On the accommodation matter, after much deliberation, I decided that a place called Falmer would be my best option. In Brighton, Falmer is a self-catered Halls of Residency, about 30 minutes from my college in Eastbourne. Kettle pointed out that the half-an-hour walk on the "morning after the night before", may be too difficult, and yeah, it might be... But I would like to cook for myself! How cool would that be! Plus it's £1000 cheaper than the other option... Welkin. Situated in Eastbourne, and only about 10 minutes from my college, it is catered and therefore much more expensive than Falmer, and getting to Brighton for the night-life and socialising part of university life, therefore more difficult and ultimately expensive.

I wanted to go to Falmer, but my "Finding a Home Guide" thought differently.

"Students studying in Eastbourne cannot reside in Brighton and vice versa."

Great! Barring a surprising reply e-mail from the accommodation people at Brighton, telling me I am somehow exempt from this, I have a grand total of 1 choice if I want to live in Halls of Residency. The self-catered, Welkin Halls. It's almost as if they don't want people in Eastbourne cooking for themselves! I think this is a bit unfair... Brighton University Students are Brighton University Students, and they should be able to choose where they want to live. Still, rules are rules, so it seems, (barring the e-mail of course), that my mind has been made up for me.

Kettle suggested finding a house, but I don't like the idea of restricting myself to living with 3,4,5 other people and not being involved in the hulabaloo of university Halls. I know it will be similar, in terms of living with new people etc, but in Halls there are more options available if you don't like where you are. In a private house, you're stuck.

So the last couple of days has thrown up highs and lows, and I suppose that will be the story of the whole experience. Good to start the madness early! Just a shame Mum and Dad are more concerned about me failing before I've even started.

Lets Have A Moan

It's 05:14. After lying in bed for an hour and a half, I have decided to take the "stay up for as long as humanly possible" route, which means I will be grumpy come midday and give up and fall asleep in a haze of tiredness at around 6pm.

This is predominantly a good thing. I felt I needed to sleep off the recklessness of the weekend, by sleeping from 4am to 6pm yesterday. Part of the reason being to bridge a gap between the old and the new, and part of it being apprehensive of the new. Yesterday evening, I lay awake knowing the talk was going to come at some point. Eventually, I realised there was no way of escaping it, and not really wanting to escape anyway, so got to it.

As a wise man once said, "There's no time like the present".

It wasn't exactly what I was expecting. I feel the content of the discussion should remain private. I'm not certain that spilling out the reaction of everything on here is the wisest way to go about releasing my frustrations or endeavours. Despite it sounding a bit... strange, I think I need to learn to moan more. Not on here, because I have done plenty of it on here, but to everyone else. Mother Mitten acknowledged it. "Don't bottle it up, but instead come and moan to me about it, I don't care". Well said.

In the past, I feel I have tried to please everyone a bit too much. Telling people I don't really mind if they have done something bad against me or annoyed me. I'll just let it go and let it pass by, as it has already happened. But maybe when friends or peers do something that annoys me, I will react how I should react. I will be angry when I deserve to be angry and I will be happy when I deserve to be happy. It might make friendships a bit more strained at certain times, but it will save me from piling it all on myself. And then I'll moan at my parents if things don't go my way. It's time to be more greedy, I think.

By this, I don't mean I will be more grumpy, more annoyed at small things or more difficult to be around, just for the sake of it. I just mean, I won't be the same person when it comes to difficult subjects or sensitive actions. I'll be more human. More adult.

And yeah, it won't be an immediate change. It will take time to work my way into becoming a new character, and it might not even work. But I'll try.

But anyway, I have a long and hopefully productive day ahead. But I already do have a slight headache, which isn't the best of starts. Maybe some Jeremy Clarkson and a film with a bar of Dairy Milk will help cheer me up.

Welcome to the new Mitten.