The Australian Question

To go or not to go, that is the question.
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to wonder
If the bats and balls of outrageous fortune,
will take arms against a sea of Aussie troubles,
and by opposing end them?

I might have mentioned this before, I might have not. For I lose track of my own thoughts sometimes, but this Australian question has played on my mind for a few weeks now. Should I? Shouldn't I? Weighing up the pros and cons of what could be a dream kick-starter or a step in the wrong direction. To go or not go, that is the question?

If I haven't mentioned it before, here is the e-mail I received at 3:29am on Sunday 28th July:
...

Hey mate, please excuse the delay in my reply. I however am meeting them tomorrow and will get back to you in more detail should you wish.

But our offer would be along these lines: 

-1x return Airfare London - Melbourne

-Accommodation covered (subject to agreement of club and player)

- Free club and association membership worth $500

- Club playing shirt & playing hat. 

-Club will also endeavour to source work (cash) for player during season. 

 

I'm sure I've missed something. Should you have any questions please don't hesitate to ask. 

Our team is young and the lads love playing cricket and having a beer afterwards. All 6 senior sides played finals last year. 

You will also have the opportunity to attend the Boxing Day Ashes test and other sporting events in Melbourne. 

 

...

 

It's all there. On paper, its the dream trip. Ever since I've started playing the game, I've almost dreamt of batting under the Australian sun on a "road", and I've always been intrigued by Australia as a country. Events in your dreams though are always in stark contrast to the reality of the situation. Me, unable to survive a university venture for more than a couple of weeks, contemplating travelling to the other side of the world on my own? When you look at it like that, the answer should be easy. But us humans have a hint of adventure in us, always wanting to push boundaries and explore, even if some of us don't have the ability to cope with that. My sister is the explorer of the family. America, Thailand, Cambodia, Laos and Australia itself. She's done all that, and she's braver, more stronger than me.
 

It wouldn't cost me a penny. For anyone else, it's a no brainer. The opportunity of a lifetime. Go and don't look back. For me, it's back to Anxious Central. Contemplation, the weighing of pros and cons, the effervescent question of, "What if" and "What if it all goes wrong?" Even if I am going to contemplate going, I need to get certain ideologies engrained into my head though...

1) One thing I have learnt from my university experience is that the first couple of weeks are going to be tough. Even if I am going to go, and am 100% committed and positive for the experience, the first 2 or 3 weeks will be very difficult indeed. I need to accept this fact and stick with it when that time comes and the homesickness kicks in.

2) I need to be less reliant on my parents. Living at home is easy. Moving out with friends is challenging. Moving out on your own is difficult. Moving to another country on your own, bearing in mind I have never been further than Paris is a whole different ball game. A different kettle of fish altogether, and if I am even going to consider this, I HAVE to be more independent.

 

3) I need to make sure I have a job to come back to. This may well be my biggest hurdle. Tomorrow may come and my area manager may just tell me that coming back after 6 months isn't an option. I'm not sure leaving for Australia and coming back unemployed is entirely sensible. And it certainly won't help me when I'm out there, having to worry about my job situation back home. If I am guaranteed a job for when I get back, that will make things easier.

4) If I do go, I've GOT to do it PROPERLY. I want memories, and stories. I want to do a video diary, (probably not as entertaining as Swanny's!) and take as many pictures as I can. I will be very proud of myself if I can do it.

I put a wee little status on Facebook earlier, about this opportunity, and I have received reams of advice telling me to just go for it. "You'll regret it" they say, and "Why are you even considering saying no?" he says.

I continue to think. Just as I type this, I have received an e-mail from the Club President saying its ok to take my time to think about it. I have given myself a deadline of a week. By this time next week, I will know if I am going to Australia in October or not. Whether its sensible to give myself a deadline, I am not sure, but, work situation pending, I'm 50/50. Again.

Part of me does wonder if I'd be better off if I never got offered the opportunity. But the other half of me just cries with joy and the fact I've been asked at all. Any advice at this time would be great.

The Week To End All Weeks

Many a time, I have started posts in this blog with, "Well, I don't know where to begin". This is usually in reference to manic weekends, and although the weekend just gone was a part of this eccentric week, the rest of it has been as equally mad. Bizarre. Ridiculous. Kooky...

I did write a blog in the week about what happened at the start, but I deleted it because I got asked a lot of questions. Frankly, I should have seen them coming, but I'll leave that part of the week to the inner most sanctum of my own brain. Some things just don't need to be documented, although I have learnt a lot of lessons from that brief period of time that my emotional head went into overdrive. One thing I will say though, is, despite the craziness of my week at work, my job is low down on the list of my ventures at the moment. My job is a side project of my social life, almost as if its a necessary sacrifice to fund what is turning into one of those summers that will stay long in the memory. This is wrong. It should really be the other way round, but I am certain that is the way I want it to be. You are only young once, and I will not have the opportunity to do this again. Some, maybe most, would call my behaviour at the moment, "Childish". Maybe not childish. More... petulant? I don't know... I can almost tell in the body language of certain people that they do not approve of my ventures to drink the world's supply of Jack Daniels, but at the moment, I could not care less. This is me. This is my life.

In all honesty, a lot of the weirdness of this week belongs with the forbidden story, so it's going to be quite difficult to explain the nuances of my week without delving into that particular pond. Of course, I was out on both Friday and Saturday night, as if it needed saying, but, on Saturday night especially, I was trapped between worlds. We were out for Master Kettle's 22nd birthday, always a really fun occasion, and I had been looking forward to it all week. After getting home from the most outrageous day of cricket I have ever been involved in, (all will be explained), I got to Kettle's and immediately got the JD going. By the time we got into a taxi, I was pleasantly drunk and really enjoying the night. All of my friends were in one place and we were all going to go to town and carry on. I was determined to not be involved in any drama, or make any stories. I have enough of them to write a novel. I was also determined to avoid The Barley Mow, for that very reason. The most dramatic of places at the best of times, The Barley Mow is not the place to go if you want a quiet night. After a few more drinks in Rose and Chameleon however, I must have zoned out for a while, because when I finally realised where I was, I was finding myself being dragged (not literally) through the oak doors of the one place I just didn't want to go. Why couldn't we just ... Not go to a club?

Anyway. I was here, so I might aswell stay, and I presumed that there was only a few of the remaining crowd here with us. They must have gone somewhere else, citing the reason that The Barley Mow really isn't for them.

But 15 minutes later, I walked round the corner on my way to the bar and found the WHOLE of the original group, half of whom were looking extremely nervous, standing in the middle of the dancefloor. It was my "gay world" and my "normal world" colliding. And it got to me. There was potential drama left, right and centre, and I didn't want all my friends seeing me involved in any of it. It was ... nonsense. I'm not ashamed of who I am or where I was, but there are certain friends of mine who say stupid things when they're drunk, and I was a bit scared of what they might do in an environment where I am now considered a "regular". Luckily, I got away with it. I think.

That makes no sense does it... I'm going to give up explaining what that felt like and move backwards and to Saturday afternoon.

Cricket. It's a gentlemen's game, played in usually good manners and high spirits, but on Saturday, our game was a hecatomb of anarchy. We were playing Houghton Chargers, a team who we'd beaten by a solitary wicket a few weeks ago, amid ugly scenes of cheating from them. We were expecting more of the same this time around, except their cheating ended up being low down on the agenda of disappointments when we realised where we were playing. Houghton Regis isn't exactly the nicest of places. In the heartland of Luton, which is practically EDL territory, the whole game was a joke. Kids on bikes and mopeds, cigarettes in hand despite looking no older than 13 rode across the pitch. Prostitutes walking round the boundary edge looking for their latest fare, and fights going on in the park opposite, it was just one of those days where you wanted to go home. They racked up 263 whilst batting, which hardly mattered, because halfway through our innings, the yobs who had threatened to take control throughout the whole afternoon came over. Despite this being the ninth or tenth time that someone (or "something" in some cases ... I don't class some of these parasites as humans), had refused to leave the pitch, one of the Houghton players decided to take law into his own hands and kick one of the aggressive teenagers off their bikes. From then on, the monster was let out of its cage and it was complete carnage. The pitch was ruined, the yobs picked up stumps and bats and threatened to kill anyone wearing white that got in their way and as I moved as quickly as possible back to the changing rooms, I decided very quickly that enough was enough. I love cricket, but its not worth risking being killed by an out of control community to complete a match.

Despite the Houghton captain's reassurances it wouldn't happen again, (of which there was absolutely no way he could guarantee), I told him to get a grip and that we were going home. And I will not be returning to play cricket there ever again.

I honestly don't know what else to write. I began writing this on Sunday evening, after a relatively comfortable win at Kempston Hammers, although there was more drama when one of our players, accidentally throwing hard into the keeper, waywardly missed and hit the batsman square in the jaw. It caused him to lie on the ground motionless for some time before jumping up and threatening to beat him up. It was at this moment where I just wanted the week to end. It's been so up and down that I just crashed out at about midnight on Sunday evening and wished beyond anything that the coming week, (which began today with a thankfully uneventful day at work), was nothing like the one I have just experienced. It wasn't a bad week... Not really... It was just ...

I don't know.

Heat Thoughts

Just a short little entry to allay a few recent worries... Summer isn't usually unkind to me, at least not as brutally as Winter is, but when things crop up in your life, sometimes its just impossible to not worry.

"Some nights I stay up cashing in my bad luck... Sometimes I call it a draw".

The lyrics of 'Fun', of which attempting to sleep in this heat is not, are quite relatable at this time. In the heat of the daytime, and in the moment, I have been on exceptional form recently. Standing up against decisions I don't like in all walks of my life, being the best person I can be, taking every opportunity that comes along and helping others out along the way. The last few weeks have been the dream version of me. But, barring the usual cricketing weekend and a cancelled barbeque, the weekend just gone has been nothing short of bizarre. The last couple of weekends have been full-on attempts at trying to make the most of being young and free, but, attempting the same this weekend, I have stumbled across a familiar road block. This, matched with thoughts of a life-changing opportunity that really hasn't been given the thought it should have been, equals a messed up head. Not in the same way as Winter brings. A messed up Winter head isn't worth thinking about at the moment, but this particular messed up head is one that I reckon most people can relate to. Well... Most can probably relate to half of it anyway...

The other half belongs on the other side of the world. I haven't mentioned this, because I thought there was a literal 0% chance of it happening, but a couple of weeks ago, I got an e-mail from a cricket club near Melbourne. For those of you with a grasp of basic geography, you will have worked out that this is in Australia. Reading through the e-mail, offering a chance to play as an overseas cricketer out there was almost too good to be true, but instantly I dismissed it, thinking there was no way I would have the bottle to go out there. However, what I found myself doing, was day dreaming about it every single day at work for the week after. Every single minute, of every single day, would be used up with me sitting in the office, air conditioning on the lowest possible setting, dreaming of batting in the Australian sunshine. It was then that I realised that maybe I should think about it... Except, I haven't really. Oh, I've thought about it. I've thought about playing cricket in Australia, but what about everything else? What about life here? My job, my family, my friends... Would I really have the bottle to pack it all in and start again on the other side of our planet? Me? The guy who nearly lost it all at the end of 2012? The guy who takes Summer in his stride and falls apart in Winter?

For the past week or so, I've been 50/50, desperately wanting to be one of those people who have the urge of adventure, the need to seek the promised life and the guts to just do it. Like my sister I suppose... But that's just not me. I'm the safe guy. The one who doesn't like change, the conservative one. Afraid of new challenges because it might rock the boat... And this would certainly rock the boat... And maybe even sink it...

And then there's the new worry. The result of another weekend of mad partying and drinking, the decisions to be made on the back of a single night out. I'm scared to talk about it, because its not fair on the people involved if I do, but Saturday night was quite simply... I don't know. I used the word "bizarre" earlier, which might be a tad insulting to the people involved, but it was certainly... I don't know. Weird? Strange? Wonderful even? And I'm not talking about me here... Although, the worry is most certainly about me. The same old story of whether to just do it. I preach to others to "go with the flow" and "wing it", and fail to listen to my own words sometimes. I suppose it's much more difficult when its yourself...

Ahh this blog... The resting place of my brains. 525 posts of utter waffle. You know what my ultimate goal in life is? When I die, if I get "R.I.P to a top bloke" on my gravestone, I'll be a happy dead man. Haha.

That 19-Year Old Kid

You join me, with the windows flung wide open at nearly 10pm, on yet another muggy and close evening. My new favourite song is playing at a rather rude volume and I've just thought of something... I rang someone on their home phone about half an hour ago. Half an hour ago, it was 9.30pm. Is that sort of social etiquette punishable by a custodial sentence?

I've just finished watching the 2nd day of the long awaited first test of the Ashes series, and wasn't it incredible? A single month ago, 19-year old Ashton Agar was bowling in Division 1 of the Oxford Home Counties League. Yes, he couldn't even make it in to the Premier Division. Yet today, he hit 98 of the most fluent and confident runs ever seen from a number 11 batsman. With Australia in disarray, and myself just about to enter a one-hour long meeting with my area manager in a pleasant enough mood, I imagined myself returning to see England with a healthy lead. What actually happened was a rather bad meeting followed by the realisation that England's best bowlers were being hit all around Nottinghamshire by a kid who wouldn't stop smiling. Even when he got out for 98, two agonising runs short of a truly unbelievable debut century, he had a smile plastered across his youthful face and merely shrugged his shoulders.

Ashton Agar, 19, overtakes Tino Best with the world record for the
most amount of runs scored by a Number 11
batsman in test cricket.

"Oh well. I got 98 more runs than Michael Clarke". He even mouthed the words, "Sorry Mum" towards the place in the stands where she was sitting. I can't imagine many parents would be angry at such a performance. Whilst watching the highlights this evening, my mum merely questioned whether the game was over when they finally trudged off at the end of the Australian innings.

"No Mum, there's over 3 more days to go yet".

"Really? That's a long game isn't it...? Don't they get bored of hitting that ball?"

Not one to really understand the nuances of international sport my Mother... She'd much rather sit in the garden with a cup of tea and read a good book. My Dad meanwhile, doesn't really get cricket either. Much more a football man, his unreal optimism really does come to the fore, especially when it comes to cricket. I reckon he's seen me bat twice, (if my memory serves me correctly, I hit 48 and 80 when he has), and because of that, he reckons I'm the next Alastair Cook.

Watching a county match on Sky the other week prompted him to ask me, "Wouldn't you want to play first-class cricket mate?" He asked the question as if I had already been asked, but refused because I was too good for county cricket. The simple answer is, "Yes, very much so", but there are defining problems. The first, and probably most prominent, is the fact I'm not good enough. Sure, hitting boundaries against an opening bowler in the Bedfordshire County League is one thing, but something tells me an opening bowler in the LV County Championship would give me a good going over. I remember facing a ball that zoomed out of the bowling machine at 85mph once. I didn't see it before I felt it crunch the middle of my foot. To be able to hit that would be a good achievement. To get consistent runs against that sort of bowling would be a minor miracle.

And once again, upon learning that Ashton Agar had hit 98 this afternoon, my Dad texted me, "You could do that". I'm not sure I could manufacture that situation in my dreams, let alone in reality. When the scoreboard ticked over to 117-9 this afternoon, I'm fairly sure everyone in the ground were expecting the Three Lions to come out to bat fairly soon after, fully in control. Obviously, this wasn't the case, but even watching the evening highlights, it struck me how much Agar enjoyed his innings. He looked as if he didn't have a care in the world. Not a hint of pressure on his shoulders, despite the occasion and the match situation. It reminded me about the spirit of cricket and even though the innings wound up England players something chronic, it was an unbelievable spectacle and reminded us all about the greatness that this sport of Test Match cricket can throw up. Even though its the Ashes, you can completely enjoy yourself.

It reminded me to enjoy my own game. I am in very good form at the moment, a welcome change from the woes of my early season, and today simply reminded me that I should enjoy that form while I have it. Cricket is an unbelievable sport when it comes to the concept of form. When you are confident, you find yourself playing shots you wouldn't dream of playing usually, and they'd come off. You score runs in places you'd never usually score runs. The ball finds the middle of the bat with easy regularity and runs come a plenty. When you're not on form, you can hardly hit the ball. Same person. Same bat. Sometimes, near enough the same pitch. But entirely different results.

And that's what today was. Confidence. Confidence with a dash of the free-natured thoughts of the youth and boy, did it pay off. Something tells me this Ashes series is going to be a great one...

All We Know Is ... He's called Mitten!

After last weekend, I was pretty damn certain it was going to be a long time before I embarked on a similar schedule. By Sunday night, after two consecutive nights out, two cricket matches and work, I was clinically dead. I slept for 12 hours, (I only had work on Monday afternoon), and even then I needed more. It was a truly special effort, and one that I was not going to repeat.

Until this weekend.

Oh yes, I did it again. Pretty much the same schedule, same time frames and arguably, it was even better. Sitting at work, monstrously bored on Friday afternoon, contemplating an evening of nothingness, I hatched a plan. I had work again on Saturday morning, but I knew it wouldn't be a problem after the successes of last weekend. I rounded up the troops, and after a lot of persuasion, managed to get a group of us out on the town. Abigail picked me up at 9pm, and we visited Tesco's to get some pre-drinks in. Now. Usually, I'd buy a small bottle of JD and a bottle of coke and we'd keep it at that. But I knew I was definitely getting drunk on Saturday night aswell, so after a bit of contemplation, I went for the biggest bottle of JD available. 1 whole litre of the stuff, and at £35, it seemed like quite an investment. Even walking out of the shop, I felt like a literal alcoholic. We had about an hour of pre-drinking, and I had only had a bit of Jack Daniels, leaving the majority of the litre bottle. We made our way into town and met with the others, and what proceeded was one of the strangest nights in recent history. Certainly of 2013 so far. I was in one of my, "I'm gonna get everyone very drunk!" moods, so got in a lot of Jagerbombs and a lot of Sambuca and fed them to everyone. What proceeded was a crazy, crazy night. I honestly don't know how to write it down in words, so I won't. Most of it is unrepeatable anyway...

Work on Saturday morning was difficult. Waking up with the screaming of the alarm clock felt considerably tougher than it had done the previous weekend, and although I didn't have a hangover, (I don't tend to get them unless I've gone way overboard), I was viciously tired. But once again, I took on the attitude I had done the previous weekend. The Mastermind Attitude.

"I've started, so I'll finish."

Work was actually dead. I've never known a Saturday morning as quiet as that one, so when 1pm finally rocked around, I felt like I had been given a lifeline. An easy morning after a night on the tiles, (literally for some, although I managed to stay on my feet), left me with slightly more energy for the afternoon's exertions out on the cricket pitch. I still bought my now customary can of Red Bull, and whilst preparing for the match, I looked forward to what was going to be a run fest. Although, after an hour of the match, I was rather wanting to go home.

It was extraordinary. I lost the toss, and we were asked to field. It was a bad toss to lose, and the obvious choice, as the pitch was a slab of concrete. The perfect batting conditions, and instantly, we said 240 was a par score. What actually happened was nothing short of carnage. We were playing Houghton Chargers, the champions for the past three seasons, although they are struggling this season, so we thought we were in with a chance, with a strong side out. By the drinks break, 22 overs in, Houghton were on 174-1. Now. If you have no knowledge of the game, you might not know how ridiculous a score that is. If you do, you'll know that we spent the first half of that innings fetching the ball from all parts of Bedfordshire. The Houghton opening batsman had set about marmalising our bowling attack to smithereens and he had scored a century by the time we were guzzling our drinks, wondering what on Earth the second half of the innings was going to bring. Thankfully though, this opening batsman holed out to me at deep mid-wicket in the second over after the break. As the ball approached me, I was thinking, "If you drop this, I'm going to be placed on a stake by my own teammates". I did hold on. And then what happened, was even better.

At this stage, they were 210-2, and a mammoth score still looked likely. However, not long after, they had been dismissed all out for 245. Obviously, it was still a good score, but considering they were talking about getting 400 at the drinks break, I was a happy captain. We considered that about a par score as we tucked into our mid-match sandwiches.

Our innings started pretty brightly. After losing an early wicket, I came in to bat at number 3 in the second over and set about supporting my fellow opening batsman, who was due at work at 6pm! He decided to copy the mantra of his opposite number and flayed the ball to all parts before having no choice but to depart, unbeaten on 68. I went on to make my second half-century of the season, before chopping on to my own stumps for 52, but at this point, we were 185-3, and cruising. We needed another 60 odd runs for victory, and thanks to a superior run-rate, we could do it pretty serenely. However, just like on a lot of other occasions this season, we made an absolute meal of it. So much so, that we required another 13 runs for victory with our number 11 batsman walking to the crease. Once more, I found myself at square leg, umpiring, willing the boys over the line. Thanks to awesome pressure batting from Arjun, we did just that, and we had won by 1 wicket.

It was a startling victory, especially given the situation after an hour of the match. Full speed ahead!

Scenes were very different after last weekend. Last weekend, I was struggling to stay awake after cricket on the Saturday, but this time, I was buzzing on the adrenaline of an extraordinary victory. This, plus the anticipation of what was going to be a very funny night, meant I was in exceptionally high spirits.

You see, there was a house party going on in the remote village of Wilden. A 21st party, and it was fancy dress. I've never really been a fan of fancy dress. It seems like a waste of effort and money on what's going to be easily forgotten, but on this occasion, I had an inspired idea that would be filled with comedy. And most definitely unforgettable. There was a theme, and it was TV characters. On Monday night, at roughly midnight, I stumbled across a fancy dress website and I only needed to briefly browse it to find what would be the most PERFECT outfit.

Some say his head is massive....
And that he carries around a drip of JD inside his
jacket... All we know is... He's NOT the Stig!

But he is the Stig's Alcoholic Cousin!

It was brilliant. I turned up a little later than I had anticipated due to a problem with a petrol pump, but once I did, it was comedy gold. A few people knew I was turning up as The Stig from Top Gear, but not everyone did, and there were a lot of people there who didn't know me at all. As I stepped out of the car on to the road, I heard, "Wow! It's the Stig!" from the pathway outside the house. I was wearing the Stig mask, and had told myself I would stay in character for as long as time allowed me. I was stood in the middle of the road, and a car was coming the other way, but determined to stay in character, I stood my ground. The car ahead stopped, and as I looked up from the road to the car, I could see a man in there, absolutely aghast. Whether he thought it was genuinely The Stig I don't know, but as I stood in the middle of the road, refusing to move, I could hear laughs of absolute derision from the sidelines. I was a comedy genius.

I didn't stay in the road for long. I didn't want to annoy the man too much, but as I walked towards the house, I was greeted with a lot of, "That costume is extraordinary!" amongst other similarly complimentary greetings. As I reached the path, I stopped and looked in the direction of the onlookers. I didn't say a word. I could see them out of my mask, but I knew they could not see in, so I had a smile plastered across my face. I kept silent and looked at them for a while. And then walked off. Cue more hysterical laughter.

I was then given the keys to a guy's car, the make of which slips my mind, but he had modified it so it had neon lights underneath and a big exhaust. I got inside and sat in the drivers seat. With that, a lot more people came outside to hear what the commotion was, and saw The Stig sitting in the drivers seat of one of the guests cars.

"Who is that? Is it actually The Stig?!"

"It might aswell be, because this guy is bloody amazing at it!"

I sat in the car for a good 10 minutes, not moving, not saying a word, until I was given the car keys. I didn't drive anywhere, but closed the door and started the engine, and gave it a few revs. Everyone loved it.

"Whoever that is, he is a fucking legend! That is BRILLIANT!", I heard behind me, as I eventually walked into the house. I was delighted. This was unbelievably funny. I had the Stig's character down to a tee.

I walked into the house, still in character, and came across the large group of friends that I know. Unfortunately, one of the people who knew I was The Stig was very drunk already, so gave the game away, which was a slight shame, but I had definitely made an impact. As I took the mask off, there were cheers and more compliments of how great the costume was. For the first hour, I walked around with my mask on, looking through the window of the summerhouse and scaring the people in there who were yet to see me or the costume.

It was a very good night. I did a bit of karaoke dressed as The Stig, and a couple of people got absolutely mortifyingly drunk, as is pretty standard for a house party. We took a couple of customary pictures of the guilty party, and as people crashed at roughly 3am, I started to feel the heat under my eyes. I was tired. Time to go.

As the taxi arrived, I decided I would round up all the spare alcohol and fill a Tesco's bag worth. My own litre of JD, (which was now half a litre), a couple of half bottles of Bacardi and a load of Guinness and Strongbow, I was away. The only other moment of that night I distinctly remember was the taxi driver telling me he played cricket aswell, for Bedford Pakistanis.

I then went and asked him if he was Indian. Good work Mitten.

When I got home, I strangely decided to do the cricket admin work from the extraordinary win from earlier, and crashed at roughly 4.30am. Once again, I slept solidly until the alarm went. Another day. Another cricket match.

There's not a lot to explain about this match in all honesty. It was an extremely comfortable win for us, and all of a sudden, there is an air of invincibility in the camp, as we slowly make our way up the table towards the promotion places. Promotion will be a tough, tough ask but I'm sure the guys will give it their best shot. I've already said that if we do get promoted, I will play in the annual 6-a-side tournament at the end of the season in my Stig suit.

There was no pub quiz after that game of cricket, as I had gotten back from the away venue later than anticipated. This was a god send, as I was absolutely knackered. Again. But once again, I did not regret doing any of the activities I did this weekend. These last few weeks, the wonders of Summer have hit me.

I have never taken this attitude before, but since the beginning of June, I have used the phrase, "Life is for living". I've been taking most opportunities to be social and have fun, and it has paid enormous dividends. In the past, I have been largely reluctant to sacrifice sleep for social events, as I figured I wouldn't enjoy the social events if I was knackered. The last couple of weekends have proved that theory wrong. Listening to stories from people older than myself, I am currently in that brief stage of my life where I have a decent enough job, whilst also living at home.

I believe the phrase is "disposable income", and at the moment, I have a lot of it. Finally, at the age of 22, I feel like I can have a proper go at really enjoying myself. Enjoy being young and carefree, and although I anticipate some troubles come Winter, as is usually the case, at the moment, that is a long way off. With the promise of a proper Summer for the majority of July, (a heatwave apparently), there might well be more of these action-packed weekends.

I for one, cannot wait. Bring it on!


P.S. I believe, after 524 posts, that's the first picture I've uploaded to this blog that has actually uploaded properly... I'm amazed! Cracking picture though!