In terms of blogging, this site has (once again) become redundant. However, I want to use this space to let loose some honesty. Every now and then, events happen in life that cause people to begin gossiping. The number 1 past-time for the Great British public.
Other people.
I remember, just over 10 months ago, I wished everyone a fabulous 2014 before drowning my liver with copious amounts of cider and Jack Daniels. That New Year's Eve night was brilliant, but the year as a whole has been one catastrophe after another, with odd moments of brilliance sandwiched in to make it bearable. Some of them created by mistakes from myself, some of them not. Within these very pages, there have been commitments to the future that have passed me by in the blink of an eye and not adhered to. The apparent happiness of accomplishments that, long term, throw me into another shit storm of uncertainty and unpredictable behaviour. The diaries of the dark days, now with an explanation that matches the madness. The prose that left its readers feeling down, let alone the author...
The last few months especially have been extremely difficult and eye-opening. In many ways this stage of my life has also provided inspiration, so there's a piece of positivity for those of you who, like my Dad, are the glass half-full types. I've met a lot of new people, most of whom have been exceptional people to meet, and have really got me thinking about my own life and where it is heading. Am I the kind of person who could feasibly manage working in an insurance office? No. In all honesty, it didn't take me that long to work it out, but no. Let's be honest here, I don't want anything like that. I want to write. So, I've invested in time to do just that. Write. I'm writing an anthology and have just restarted a novel and I spend my spare time, notebook in hand, jotting down ideas that pop into my head and developing characters and plots. I've reached a point in my life now where I just don't care for other people's views on what I should do with MY life.
In the last six weeks or so, I met a group of 35 inspirational people in the heartland of capital city. I was invited to go on the Stonewall Talent Programme - A program that teaches you to be authentic in life as an LGBT role model. The three days I was there were extremely eye-opening, emotional and quite frankly brilliant. I walked away from the programme with a whole new idea of where I wanted my life to go. 5 weeks later and I was back in London for the reunion and everyone seemed shocked yet inspired by my choice to go for my dreams. I suppose its kinda Hollywood but so what?
Life is indeed too short right?
That lesson is one that was horribly confirmed to me last night when someone reminded me about the loss of someone who has a special place in my heart. Mattie was my first boyfriend, secret, and special. The times we spent together were magical. He was the most caring, understanding person in the entire world. He knew I wanted to come out in my own time, and didn't pressure me whatsoever into doing it for the purposes of our relationship. He helped me do just that. He was also one of the funniest guys I've had the pleasure of meeting. He used to joke with me that I wasn't a proper gay because I'm not particularly camp! All in jest of course. Meeting him for the first time, (of course in a bar - where else?) left me gob-smacked with his openness and honesty. I suppose I learnt the positives of being as open as I am because of him. We just clicked. I haven't felt like that since, and I miss that feeling. And now he's gone, another victim of the roads. So young.
But, as my Father says, life goes on. I have to think of my own future and do what's best for me instead of just tip-toeing around other people's opinions of what I should do. Its a lesson most people learnt years ago, but I'm just getting to grips to.
Monday 27 October 2014
Thursday 31 July 2014
Memories From The Tour
As you can probably tell, my mood lately has been quivering between 'bad' and 'insanity'. Things haven't been great lately, but with the distinct possibility of an upward turn in events from tomorrow plus a pretty good weekend lined up, hopefully I've reached the core and can start working my way back up to the crust.
In the meantime, I've been reading through older posts, as I'm sometimes accustomed to doing, and realised that I never blogged about "that tour". Oh yes, back in April, myself and 15 cricket club comrades took to the road and toured Wales for the weekend. It was a 4 days I will never, ever forget...
I remember the Wednesday night before. I was all packed and literally couldn't sleep through the excitement. I was like an 8-year old waiting to go to Disneyland. It was only when I was drifting off that I woke up startled that I had packed everything apart from my cricket whites. Bearing in mind we were indeed playing some cricket on this tour, my actual kit may well have been useful! I only got a few hours sleep then, when I decided to get up at about 8am and give the car I had been given for the weekend a spin around Bedford, (Thanks Craig!) I went to Tesco's, I went to Mum's for a cup of tea and even then there was still an hour to go before we actually left. By then I just decided to go to The Bury (our home ground) and wait. I walked around the club for an hour, soaking in the sporting atmosphere and remembering scorching hot days of the past, scoring runs and taking insane catches. At 9.30am, the first people turned up, each looking as excited as the next and it was 10am by the time everyone had turned up. There were four groups of four cars and we had decided beforehand to compete for a first victory of the tour. A Top Gear style race to the Copthorne Hotel in Cardiff. The first ones there get a drink bought for them. The last ones there face a forfeit.
I refused to come last.
Along the way, myself driving with TK, Ben and Dom alongside me, we cracked some jokes, throwed some rumours about what everyone had brought for their fancy dress costumes for Saturday night and I was in the best possible mood. Every now and then we checked on the locations of others and we quickly realised we were miles out in front. One team had forgotten something so had to turn round and go back half an hour in, (they inevitably came last), another team was stuck in traffic after going a different way (they finished 3rd) leaving us and Force India to battle it out for victory. We thought we were miles in front, even taking a brief stop on the hard shoulder of the M4 so Ben could piss in the bushes, (pulling into the services was not a risk I was willing to take). We didn't see Force India until the very last roundabout leading into the hotel when we pulled in behind them before the traffic lights. They would win. When the lights turned green, I fully expected them to turn left into the hotel, but they didn't. They'd missed the turning! We had won! It was the first of what was to be many memories!
After dossing around the hotel for a few hours, we made our way to our first game. It was a Twenty20 match in Newport. I won't spend too much time talking about the cricket, but we won by 7 wickets. I even bowled and got a wicket myself! On Friday, we had a glorious tour around the SWALEC stadium, where they hold some England test matches and is Glamorgan's home ground. Most anticipated this to be the low point of the whole tour, but it was actually really interesting learning about the history of the game in Cardiff and Glamorgan CCC. We even had a two-hour training session in their complex which was pretty cool. We each got a go against the high-tech bowling machine. Now. Me, rather unwisely, thought I'd use this time to work on my weaknesses. I told the boys to notch up the pace to 70mph and set the machine to bowling short. In other words. Very, very fast and at my face. Obviously I was wearing a helmet, but the very first ball I faced cracked me in the ribs. Not perturbed, but wincing a lot, I carried on. The 2nd ball clean bowled me. The third ball smashed me on my arm. The fourth ball glanced my helmet as I JUST got out of the way before I decided enough was enough. Back to a normal length and a normal pace, but by then I was so scared, I just kept getting out. It wasn't a wise move. And it was a move that won me the 'Dick of the Day' award. A forfeit was on the horizon...
Friday night however was when the real stories begin. Drinking in the hotel was funny enough, as we all naturally got drunk along with the youngsters of the group who wouldn't be able to come into the city centre with us. Michael, just 14, was the subject of a cruel experiment but he didn't let us corrupt his youth too much with excessive cider! By the time we went out, everyone was suitably lucid and the night ahead was one not to be forgotten.
We went to a couple of bars, joked around and danced, met Kev from American Pie and danced some more. It was hilarious. Things after though notched up a level. I won't say names, but one of the party invited us all to the local "exotic bar joint" as he so aptly put it. Most of the party said "no don't be stupid", and bearing in mind I really should have been at the front of that party, I was as surprised as everyone else to find myself saying, "Why not". It really wasn't long before I realised that this place, as if I didn't know before, wasn't really for me... I left and found the other guys carrying on the drinking some place else. The chaps I left behind spent literally hundreds. One of the guys I had found was then promptly kicked out of the new bar for trying to scoop beer from the taps himself into his own mouth. It was extraordinary! By 3.30am, there were 3 of us left, and even then, it was so much fun. We eventually got in at 4am and proceeded to wake everyone up. Such fun!
I'm not sure about everyone else, but I certainly woke up with a sore head. What was worse was that I had my forfeit to complete. After my antics against the bowling machine the day before, my forfeit was to wear my fancy dress costume a day early. For the whole day. Basically, I hadn't had any time to buy anything new for the fancy dress part so I went with an old idea. An idea that resides in this blog.
Yes. I had to be dressed, for the whole day, as The Stig.
Turning up to our opponent's ground for our game on Saturday sure was interesting. Not only did I have to dress as The Stig, I had to act like him as well. A WHOLE DAY, of pure silence in a roasting hot white racing suit. There was a long walkway from the car park to the changing rooms, and I could hear the opposition laughter from a long way away. The reaction was exactly the same as that party from months ago. People loved it.
It turns out we were very early for the game, so I gave myself a chance to survive and took the visor off in the changing room. I was determined to not let any of the opposition see. I wasn't captain for the day, (captaining while silent is tough!) so when Monty came back in and announced we were batting, I was delighted. I was to open as The Stig, and when I walked out donned in pads, gloves and holding my GM, everyone was roaring with laughter. The opening bowler must have wondered what he was bowling at. I could barely see a thing as the first ball approached. I could just about see the outline of the ball leaving the bowlers hand, and managed to glance my first ball for a single, to rapturous cheers from both sets of teams. Even I was stumped as to how I had managed to hit that. It didn't quite go to plan for the 2nd ball though as I was clean bowled. Naturally, I stood there for a while, before walking off.
I wasn't going to survive the whole day wearing the visor as it was extremely warm, so decided to allow myself to take it off when I wasn't on the field to allow some breathing space. The rest of the day went along without any hiccups, despite fielding at slip wearing the visor, and we got thrashed. Not that it mattered.
Saturday night was even better than the Friday night. We all got very drunk again, but this time, we ALL went out in fancy dress. Of course, I was still stuck in my Stig costume, but others joined me in the fancy dress fun. There was a couple of monks, Danny Zuko from Grease, a Guantanamo Bay prisoner (he's the controversial one of the group!), a bottle of Jagermeister, a superhero of some description, and even 53-year old Charlie joined in the fun dressed as a Ghostbuster. It was just brilliant.
That night goes down as one of the most interesting and funny nights of my life. If you looked at the night on paper, you'd see a group of lads going to a club. No biggy. But but what happened inside that club was truly memorable. 53-year old Charlie, led a conga line around the club, consisting of a good 30 people to the Ghostbusters theme tune. He also downed a fair few shots in a night he will surely remember. Myself, dressed as His Stigness of course, got chatted up by more girls than the rest of the other guys combined and Dom simply melted in his Jagermeister costume. Bless him! It was just indescribably glorious though!
There's not a lot more to describe as our game on Sunday, rather thankfully for me as I was seriously struggling at this point, was rained off. We drove home, almost in as high a spirit as we came, running through the events of the past 4 days.
17th-20th April 2014. A trip I will always remember.
In the meantime, I've been reading through older posts, as I'm sometimes accustomed to doing, and realised that I never blogged about "that tour". Oh yes, back in April, myself and 15 cricket club comrades took to the road and toured Wales for the weekend. It was a 4 days I will never, ever forget...
I remember the Wednesday night before. I was all packed and literally couldn't sleep through the excitement. I was like an 8-year old waiting to go to Disneyland. It was only when I was drifting off that I woke up startled that I had packed everything apart from my cricket whites. Bearing in mind we were indeed playing some cricket on this tour, my actual kit may well have been useful! I only got a few hours sleep then, when I decided to get up at about 8am and give the car I had been given for the weekend a spin around Bedford, (Thanks Craig!) I went to Tesco's, I went to Mum's for a cup of tea and even then there was still an hour to go before we actually left. By then I just decided to go to The Bury (our home ground) and wait. I walked around the club for an hour, soaking in the sporting atmosphere and remembering scorching hot days of the past, scoring runs and taking insane catches. At 9.30am, the first people turned up, each looking as excited as the next and it was 10am by the time everyone had turned up. There were four groups of four cars and we had decided beforehand to compete for a first victory of the tour. A Top Gear style race to the Copthorne Hotel in Cardiff. The first ones there get a drink bought for them. The last ones there face a forfeit.
I refused to come last.
Along the way, myself driving with TK, Ben and Dom alongside me, we cracked some jokes, throwed some rumours about what everyone had brought for their fancy dress costumes for Saturday night and I was in the best possible mood. Every now and then we checked on the locations of others and we quickly realised we were miles out in front. One team had forgotten something so had to turn round and go back half an hour in, (they inevitably came last), another team was stuck in traffic after going a different way (they finished 3rd) leaving us and Force India to battle it out for victory. We thought we were miles in front, even taking a brief stop on the hard shoulder of the M4 so Ben could piss in the bushes, (pulling into the services was not a risk I was willing to take). We didn't see Force India until the very last roundabout leading into the hotel when we pulled in behind them before the traffic lights. They would win. When the lights turned green, I fully expected them to turn left into the hotel, but they didn't. They'd missed the turning! We had won! It was the first of what was to be many memories!
After dossing around the hotel for a few hours, we made our way to our first game. It was a Twenty20 match in Newport. I won't spend too much time talking about the cricket, but we won by 7 wickets. I even bowled and got a wicket myself! On Friday, we had a glorious tour around the SWALEC stadium, where they hold some England test matches and is Glamorgan's home ground. Most anticipated this to be the low point of the whole tour, but it was actually really interesting learning about the history of the game in Cardiff and Glamorgan CCC. We even had a two-hour training session in their complex which was pretty cool. We each got a go against the high-tech bowling machine. Now. Me, rather unwisely, thought I'd use this time to work on my weaknesses. I told the boys to notch up the pace to 70mph and set the machine to bowling short. In other words. Very, very fast and at my face. Obviously I was wearing a helmet, but the very first ball I faced cracked me in the ribs. Not perturbed, but wincing a lot, I carried on. The 2nd ball clean bowled me. The third ball smashed me on my arm. The fourth ball glanced my helmet as I JUST got out of the way before I decided enough was enough. Back to a normal length and a normal pace, but by then I was so scared, I just kept getting out. It wasn't a wise move. And it was a move that won me the 'Dick of the Day' award. A forfeit was on the horizon...
Friday night however was when the real stories begin. Drinking in the hotel was funny enough, as we all naturally got drunk along with the youngsters of the group who wouldn't be able to come into the city centre with us. Michael, just 14, was the subject of a cruel experiment but he didn't let us corrupt his youth too much with excessive cider! By the time we went out, everyone was suitably lucid and the night ahead was one not to be forgotten.
We went to a couple of bars, joked around and danced, met Kev from American Pie and danced some more. It was hilarious. Things after though notched up a level. I won't say names, but one of the party invited us all to the local "exotic bar joint" as he so aptly put it. Most of the party said "no don't be stupid", and bearing in mind I really should have been at the front of that party, I was as surprised as everyone else to find myself saying, "Why not". It really wasn't long before I realised that this place, as if I didn't know before, wasn't really for me... I left and found the other guys carrying on the drinking some place else. The chaps I left behind spent literally hundreds. One of the guys I had found was then promptly kicked out of the new bar for trying to scoop beer from the taps himself into his own mouth. It was extraordinary! By 3.30am, there were 3 of us left, and even then, it was so much fun. We eventually got in at 4am and proceeded to wake everyone up. Such fun!
I'm not sure about everyone else, but I certainly woke up with a sore head. What was worse was that I had my forfeit to complete. After my antics against the bowling machine the day before, my forfeit was to wear my fancy dress costume a day early. For the whole day. Basically, I hadn't had any time to buy anything new for the fancy dress part so I went with an old idea. An idea that resides in this blog.
Yes. I had to be dressed, for the whole day, as The Stig.
 |
| Trust me when I say... You can't see an awful lot out of that visor... |
Turning up to our opponent's ground for our game on Saturday sure was interesting. Not only did I have to dress as The Stig, I had to act like him as well. A WHOLE DAY, of pure silence in a roasting hot white racing suit. There was a long walkway from the car park to the changing rooms, and I could hear the opposition laughter from a long way away. The reaction was exactly the same as that party from months ago. People loved it.
It turns out we were very early for the game, so I gave myself a chance to survive and took the visor off in the changing room. I was determined to not let any of the opposition see. I wasn't captain for the day, (captaining while silent is tough!) so when Monty came back in and announced we were batting, I was delighted. I was to open as The Stig, and when I walked out donned in pads, gloves and holding my GM, everyone was roaring with laughter. The opening bowler must have wondered what he was bowling at. I could barely see a thing as the first ball approached. I could just about see the outline of the ball leaving the bowlers hand, and managed to glance my first ball for a single, to rapturous cheers from both sets of teams. Even I was stumped as to how I had managed to hit that. It didn't quite go to plan for the 2nd ball though as I was clean bowled. Naturally, I stood there for a while, before walking off.
I wasn't going to survive the whole day wearing the visor as it was extremely warm, so decided to allow myself to take it off when I wasn't on the field to allow some breathing space. The rest of the day went along without any hiccups, despite fielding at slip wearing the visor, and we got thrashed. Not that it mattered.
Saturday night was even better than the Friday night. We all got very drunk again, but this time, we ALL went out in fancy dress. Of course, I was still stuck in my Stig costume, but others joined me in the fancy dress fun. There was a couple of monks, Danny Zuko from Grease, a Guantanamo Bay prisoner (he's the controversial one of the group!), a bottle of Jagermeister, a superhero of some description, and even 53-year old Charlie joined in the fun dressed as a Ghostbuster. It was just brilliant.
 |
| The touring party in all its fancy dress glory. (A couple of them were lazy in getting changed in time!) |
That night goes down as one of the most interesting and funny nights of my life. If you looked at the night on paper, you'd see a group of lads going to a club. No biggy. But but what happened inside that club was truly memorable. 53-year old Charlie, led a conga line around the club, consisting of a good 30 people to the Ghostbusters theme tune. He also downed a fair few shots in a night he will surely remember. Myself, dressed as His Stigness of course, got chatted up by more girls than the rest of the other guys combined and Dom simply melted in his Jagermeister costume. Bless him! It was just indescribably glorious though!
There's not a lot more to describe as our game on Sunday, rather thankfully for me as I was seriously struggling at this point, was rained off. We drove home, almost in as high a spirit as we came, running through the events of the past 4 days.
17th-20th April 2014. A trip I will always remember.
Tuesday 29 July 2014
Happy Little Pill
That's the title of a new song by actor, YouTuber and singer, Troye Sivan. I can relate to the lyrics quite well. Catchy song as well. I now have happy little pills of my own, (technically I've had them for nearly two months now), not that they're making any sort of difference.
I know what's going on. Its all me. I have been given every opportunity under the sun and I have everything. I have or have had a loving family, friends, hobbies, a proper education, experiences, freedom. I've been given everything and now I'm not and I don't know how to handle it. So much so that I'm just giving up. Things happen in this life where in the past, it would have made me upset. Now I just don't care. Why don't I care? I've gone past the stage of being upset and crying at everything to just... Complete blankness. I've never felt like this before. I've never reached this stage.
The only time I feel alive is when I'm drinking. I know I can't turn to that as a long term solution, as I am more intelligent than that, but every weekend, I go out and feel alive again. Just for those few hours every week. I shouldn't. It doesn't help me and the doctors say alcohol is off limits, but without it, I'd be a literal recluse. For the rest of the week, I'm locked away, quarantining myself in my bedroom or if I'm feeling adventurous, the kitchen. The animals we have are getting on my nerves more than they should do. The only reason I go to cricket on the weekends is that I don't want to alienate the only people who don't really know what's happening to me. Most of them anyway. Even then, I can't concentrate on the job in hand. My thoughts fly around before I realise a red ball is coming towards me and I have to do something with it. After a while of trying to bat normally and like I have done pretty successfully in the past, I just throw a bat at it. If I get out, so what? There are more important things my mind needs to be occupied with. But then when I sit there, out for single digits again, I can't think of anything. Round and round my head goes. How much longer can I extend this act for before team mates start realising that something is seriously wrong?
And then I get home, walk straight through my door and in a straight line to sleep. No shower. No dinner. I just need to stop thinking. Take me back to the world of my dreams where I can be anything I want to be and not this mess I am at the moment.
I want this to end.
I know what's going on. Its all me. I have been given every opportunity under the sun and I have everything. I have or have had a loving family, friends, hobbies, a proper education, experiences, freedom. I've been given everything and now I'm not and I don't know how to handle it. So much so that I'm just giving up. Things happen in this life where in the past, it would have made me upset. Now I just don't care. Why don't I care? I've gone past the stage of being upset and crying at everything to just... Complete blankness. I've never felt like this before. I've never reached this stage.
The only time I feel alive is when I'm drinking. I know I can't turn to that as a long term solution, as I am more intelligent than that, but every weekend, I go out and feel alive again. Just for those few hours every week. I shouldn't. It doesn't help me and the doctors say alcohol is off limits, but without it, I'd be a literal recluse. For the rest of the week, I'm locked away, quarantining myself in my bedroom or if I'm feeling adventurous, the kitchen. The animals we have are getting on my nerves more than they should do. The only reason I go to cricket on the weekends is that I don't want to alienate the only people who don't really know what's happening to me. Most of them anyway. Even then, I can't concentrate on the job in hand. My thoughts fly around before I realise a red ball is coming towards me and I have to do something with it. After a while of trying to bat normally and like I have done pretty successfully in the past, I just throw a bat at it. If I get out, so what? There are more important things my mind needs to be occupied with. But then when I sit there, out for single digits again, I can't think of anything. Round and round my head goes. How much longer can I extend this act for before team mates start realising that something is seriously wrong?
And then I get home, walk straight through my door and in a straight line to sleep. No shower. No dinner. I just need to stop thinking. Take me back to the world of my dreams where I can be anything I want to be and not this mess I am at the moment.
I want this to end.
Thursday 24 July 2014
Head Above Water
I'm still here. And still struggling. So much so, I'm properly convinced now that this is my life. Things like this do not last for 6 weeks and more. They just don't. Does that mean this is just me from now on?
That question has crossed my mind countless times. Will this one ever end? I'm still not completely interested by anything. Cricket is more of a chore than an enjoyable hobby. I only carry on doing it so I don't disappoint more people than I already have. I'm becoming more and more of a recluse and I never went back to that job. They thought I was lying so began procedures to get rid of me. I'm fairly sure what they did was illegal, but I haven't got the energy, the inclination or the know-how to challenge them. I can't even describe how much my blood boiled upon reading their thoughts. Who on Earth lies about this sort of thing? Who?
So now I'm a few days away from being a literal charity case. My worst nightmares are coming true and this is reality. My dreams are becoming more and more real, maybe in desperation more than anything else. I can physically feel the black cloak drape itself over me as I open my eyes from long spells of sleep. I hate it so much that I attempt to close them again but my body wonders what I'm trying to do after being asleep for 18 hours already. It takes me a few seconds to realise what day it is. It takes me more than a few seconds to do anything useful. I am now a burden. And I hate it.
I feel so sorry for Mum. So, so sorry. She is trying unimaginably hard to get me up and going, but I just can't. By God, I want to. I just want to be me again. That confident young man of last July who was dancing around the Barley Mow, confidently strolling up to guys I'd never met and chatting to them. That confident young man who expressed himself on the cricket pitch and scored 153 at Sandy. That confident young man who got promoted at work. What happened to him? What happened to me? I feel scared to leave my own bedroom sometimes, for a reason I don't even know. Its the impending doom that may lay on the other side of that creaky door of mine. And the guilt... The never-ending guilt...
I don't know when this will end. Or whether it ever will end. Or whether I'll recover and experience my usual winter of discontent. I just don't know.
That question has crossed my mind countless times. Will this one ever end? I'm still not completely interested by anything. Cricket is more of a chore than an enjoyable hobby. I only carry on doing it so I don't disappoint more people than I already have. I'm becoming more and more of a recluse and I never went back to that job. They thought I was lying so began procedures to get rid of me. I'm fairly sure what they did was illegal, but I haven't got the energy, the inclination or the know-how to challenge them. I can't even describe how much my blood boiled upon reading their thoughts. Who on Earth lies about this sort of thing? Who?
So now I'm a few days away from being a literal charity case. My worst nightmares are coming true and this is reality. My dreams are becoming more and more real, maybe in desperation more than anything else. I can physically feel the black cloak drape itself over me as I open my eyes from long spells of sleep. I hate it so much that I attempt to close them again but my body wonders what I'm trying to do after being asleep for 18 hours already. It takes me a few seconds to realise what day it is. It takes me more than a few seconds to do anything useful. I am now a burden. And I hate it.
I feel so sorry for Mum. So, so sorry. She is trying unimaginably hard to get me up and going, but I just can't. By God, I want to. I just want to be me again. That confident young man of last July who was dancing around the Barley Mow, confidently strolling up to guys I'd never met and chatting to them. That confident young man who expressed himself on the cricket pitch and scored 153 at Sandy. That confident young man who got promoted at work. What happened to him? What happened to me? I feel scared to leave my own bedroom sometimes, for a reason I don't even know. Its the impending doom that may lay on the other side of that creaky door of mine. And the guilt... The never-ending guilt...
I don't know when this will end. Or whether it ever will end. Or whether I'll recover and experience my usual winter of discontent. I just don't know.
Saturday 28 June 2014
Crash
And burn.
Following on immediately from my previous post, I made an unbeaten 51 the day after. I had told myself that another failure would result in my break from the game. We won by 10 wickets and I was due to buy my first jug of the season. All was well.
Since then... I don't know. I don't update this blog very often any more, for no actual reason, but as this blog used to be a place to turn to in times of hardship, the idea doesn't cross my mind anymore. I turn to more tangible resources such as my Mother for some sort of support, as difficult as that is for someone like me. And anti-depressants. Citalopram. And beta-blockers. Propranalol. The last couple of weeks have become the worst of my life, and now I shall tell you why.
Throughout the past six years, I've had what my mother has described as "episodes". I'd be coasting along quite happily, just doing this thing we call life, when suddenly, crash. I stop. Literally overnight, I go from a bubbly personality to a lifeless corpse. It's depression, and its completely debilitating. These pages are filled to its depths with tales and memories of these times, but the last couple of weeks its been ... Different. Its been prolonged and more real. I feel like a cat that has lost the 8th of its 9 lives. I feel like, with more responsibility in my life now, that my illness is making other's lives worse. I feel like a burden. Unable to go to work, I won't get enough money to pay the bills and that makes me more anxious. Problems make more problems that lead to more problems. The longer I leave going back to work, the more difficult it'll be, and the idea of doing so even now fills me with dread. And here we go again... Yet again...
I've spent my days literally asleep. For being asleep means I am not awake. I went back to the doctors and they gave me a form:
- Do you feel helpless? Yes.
- Do you feel like you have lost enjoyment in everything? Yes.
- Have you lost your appetite? Yes.
I answered yes to all the questions. The only one I didn't answer 'Yes' to was the one about suicide. I don't want to die, but I don't exactly want to live either. I have most certainly lost enjoyment in everything. Work feels more like a sentence than anything else. Its Friday evening, the most magical part of the week, and I have a full weekend of cricket ahead of me, but I'd rather stay in bed. I'm not entirely bothered if we win or lose, or if I score 0 or 100 tomorrow and Sunday. I'm not really all that bothered if I have any food in because I won't be hungry anyway. I haven't really eaten a lot in the past week.
One sentence that can sum my mood up entirely? Nothing really matters anymore.
Following on immediately from my previous post, I made an unbeaten 51 the day after. I had told myself that another failure would result in my break from the game. We won by 10 wickets and I was due to buy my first jug of the season. All was well.
Since then... I don't know. I don't update this blog very often any more, for no actual reason, but as this blog used to be a place to turn to in times of hardship, the idea doesn't cross my mind anymore. I turn to more tangible resources such as my Mother for some sort of support, as difficult as that is for someone like me. And anti-depressants. Citalopram. And beta-blockers. Propranalol. The last couple of weeks have become the worst of my life, and now I shall tell you why.
Throughout the past six years, I've had what my mother has described as "episodes". I'd be coasting along quite happily, just doing this thing we call life, when suddenly, crash. I stop. Literally overnight, I go from a bubbly personality to a lifeless corpse. It's depression, and its completely debilitating. These pages are filled to its depths with tales and memories of these times, but the last couple of weeks its been ... Different. Its been prolonged and more real. I feel like a cat that has lost the 8th of its 9 lives. I feel like, with more responsibility in my life now, that my illness is making other's lives worse. I feel like a burden. Unable to go to work, I won't get enough money to pay the bills and that makes me more anxious. Problems make more problems that lead to more problems. The longer I leave going back to work, the more difficult it'll be, and the idea of doing so even now fills me with dread. And here we go again... Yet again...
I've spent my days literally asleep. For being asleep means I am not awake. I went back to the doctors and they gave me a form:
- Do you feel helpless? Yes.
- Do you feel like you have lost enjoyment in everything? Yes.
- Have you lost your appetite? Yes.
I answered yes to all the questions. The only one I didn't answer 'Yes' to was the one about suicide. I don't want to die, but I don't exactly want to live either. I have most certainly lost enjoyment in everything. Work feels more like a sentence than anything else. Its Friday evening, the most magical part of the week, and I have a full weekend of cricket ahead of me, but I'd rather stay in bed. I'm not entirely bothered if we win or lose, or if I score 0 or 100 tomorrow and Sunday. I'm not really all that bothered if I have any food in because I won't be hungry anyway. I haven't really eaten a lot in the past week.
One sentence that can sum my mood up entirely? Nothing really matters anymore.
Saturday 7 June 2014
Bad Form
I'm not going to lie, my life has been too busy to be updating this. In the week, my days are a good ten and a half hours, and by the time I've got home, made dinner, eaten said dinner, made my lunch for the next day and ironed my shirt, I am that tired that I retreat to my room and collapse like an unfit marathon runner. Life has been ... Well... Life. Weeks come and go before you can even think about saying 'Monday morning', the new job is going swimmingly, and life in the flat is as good as ever, although I note that I am slowly getting lazier and more untidy as the weeks fly past. I am also noticing a decline in my partying habits as hangovers last longer and money is now spent on dull things like council tax and washing powder rather than Jack Daniels. I believe it is called "growing up", which I've tried avoiding for as long as possible, but can no longer escape its longing claws.
All is going well then, except one thing. Cricket. The one thing I have enjoyed more than anything else since my first ever match as a 15-year old. As a team, we are doing great. Mid-table mediocrity on Saturdays, which is acceptable given I am trialing youth team players who are doing exceedingly well at the step above what they're used to. On Sundays, we are flying high. 150 points out of a maximum of 150 available means we are sitting on top of the tree with 5 wins out of 5. Players have been putting in magical individual performances which have helped us to that level. Monty scored 129 at Harrold. Abid has two five-wicket hauls and Boony secured figures of 7-19 last weekend. Me? I haven't even made it into double figures yet. My batting form has become that bad, that its quite literally laughable among my teammates and even my colleagues at work. And I despise it.
I can take a bit of banter about it here and there. Its to be accepted. But there are two issues with this now:
1) Its gone on for so long that any attempt at banter in my direction is slowly but surely integrating into my brain as fact. I'm not entirely sure my teammates know that any comments do now have a negative impact.
And 2) Some of them insist on taking the mickey two minutes before I go out to bat. Not content with throwing banter around the table with a pint in hand, some of them say things like "Try and make 10 today hey", as I'M WALKING OUT TO THE MIDDLE. I do not need to hear that just before I start batting.
And its got to a point now where I'm seriously considering a break from the game altogether. I can't say I'll quit forever, because I don't want to, but these last few weeks have been draining at best. I can't justify my place in the team at the moment and I don't think I should use the "I'm captain so I stay" card. I have another game tomorrow, (I made 6 today and then caught in the gully), and we shall see how that goes, but this sport at the moment is making me slightly disillusioned. I don't like it.
All is going well then, except one thing. Cricket. The one thing I have enjoyed more than anything else since my first ever match as a 15-year old. As a team, we are doing great. Mid-table mediocrity on Saturdays, which is acceptable given I am trialing youth team players who are doing exceedingly well at the step above what they're used to. On Sundays, we are flying high. 150 points out of a maximum of 150 available means we are sitting on top of the tree with 5 wins out of 5. Players have been putting in magical individual performances which have helped us to that level. Monty scored 129 at Harrold. Abid has two five-wicket hauls and Boony secured figures of 7-19 last weekend. Me? I haven't even made it into double figures yet. My batting form has become that bad, that its quite literally laughable among my teammates and even my colleagues at work. And I despise it.
I can take a bit of banter about it here and there. Its to be accepted. But there are two issues with this now:
1) Its gone on for so long that any attempt at banter in my direction is slowly but surely integrating into my brain as fact. I'm not entirely sure my teammates know that any comments do now have a negative impact.
And 2) Some of them insist on taking the mickey two minutes before I go out to bat. Not content with throwing banter around the table with a pint in hand, some of them say things like "Try and make 10 today hey", as I'M WALKING OUT TO THE MIDDLE. I do not need to hear that just before I start batting.
And its got to a point now where I'm seriously considering a break from the game altogether. I can't say I'll quit forever, because I don't want to, but these last few weeks have been draining at best. I can't justify my place in the team at the moment and I don't think I should use the "I'm captain so I stay" card. I have another game tomorrow, (I made 6 today and then caught in the gully), and we shall see how that goes, but this sport at the moment is making me slightly disillusioned. I don't like it.
Sunday 11 May 2014
The Eurovision Song Contest 2014
After last years victory for Denmark's Emmelie De Forest, this years contest came from a dazzling and sparkly Copenhagen and, just as is usual, it was a show full of glitz, glamour and fun!
Just like last year, I watched both semi-finals and indeed Saturday night's Grand Final and what a spectacle it was! When I first heard the songs a few months back, I did wonder where the quality was, but a number of the songs grew on me, and it turned into one of the greatest and most wide-open contests since, in my opinion, 2008. Shall we go through the songs? Why not!
...
1) Ukraine - Mariya Yaremchuk - 'Tick Tock' - Final Position: 6th with 113 points
Its never a good thing to be first up on the Grand Final stage, but this song did well. I thought the song was fairly ordinary, but the presence of a man running around a hamster wheel seemed to appeal to the European crowd! Would it be slightly harsh to suggest that Ukraine received some of the compassion vote?
2) Belarus - Teo - 'Cheesecake' - Final Position: 16th with 43 points
This was a cheeky little number, and certainly a favourite of my flatmates because of its simple nature. I'm slightly surprised it didn't do a tad better, but no one has ever won the contest from 2nd on the running order. A tough ask for the gentlemen, but the song was performed well and they can be proud of their efforts.
3) Azerbaijan - Dilara Kazimova - 'Start a Fire' - 22nd with 33 points
I would talk about this song in a manner that suggests I'm an avid Eurovision fan, but honestly? I can't remember much about it. One of the more forgettable songs of this years competition, and the presence of a trapeze merely made it look they couldn't be bothered. What was the point of a trapeze? Not original whatsoever, and despite Dilara looking stunning, it was largely disappointing. Europe agreed.
4) Iceland - Pollaponk - 'No Prejudice' - 15th with 58 points
I really liked this. Cheery, a solid message and a vast array of colour, not least from their interesting choice of attire, it gained the approval from both of us watching. Maybe its appearance early in the running order did it no favours, but I'm surprised it didn't make it on to the left hand side of the scoreboard. Someone noted they looked like McFly in 20 years, but as a fan of McFly's music, I reckon that's a compliment! I put it through to the final pretty comfortably after Thursday's semi-final, but disappointed it didn't place higher tonight...
5) Norway - Carl Espen - 'Silent Storm' - 8th with 88 points
I wish it was silent. This years contribution to the wrist-slitting club came from Norway and Mr.Espen, and I have to say, it was hideous. Europe seems to like a slow, depressing number to break up the evening and calm the crowd down from its light-induced fervour of excitement, but I most certainly don't. It brought the first yawn of the night and I was pleased to see it disappear off our screen. Annoyed it came 8th above some much, much better offerings of music.
6) Romania - Paula Seling & Ovi - 'Miracle' - 11th with 72 points
People were raving about this on social media, and certainly a favourite of my good Eurovision friends in Northampton, but I didn't quite understand the euphoria behind it. (Notice the deliberate choice of Eurovision wording there? Good.)
Sure, it was a good song, but again, I struggle to find why it went down so well. 11th place was probably just about right for it, but no higher.
7) Armenia - Aram MP3 - 'Not Alone' - 4th with 174 points
Oh purrrr-lease. This was one of the pre-competition favourites and frankly I have no idea how. He shouted his way through his semi-final, and he seemed to carry that on in the final with a horrible performance of his so-called "song". He looked quite scary as well, and despite a brief moment where I thought the song would pick up and become "average" from "largely rubbish", it didn't. Add a '1' on the front of his eventual position, and that is where it truly belonged.
8) Montenegro - Sergej Cetkovic - 'Moj Svijet' - 19th with 37 points
A shame really, because I liked it. One of the minority of songs to be sung in their native language, it had a good melody to it and Sergej performed it admirably. I LOVED the ice-skating and the stage graphics as well, but, as is usually the case, Europe disagreed!
9) Poland - Donatan & Cleo - 'We Are Slavic' - 14th with 62 points
Ahem. Right. Okay. Hands up, who actually listened to the song? Bearing in mind the female contingent on stage aren't quite my type, I did. I'll let you know how it went. It was fairly entertaining. I didn't like it a lot in the semi-final, but it grew on me in the final. Not entirely surprised it didn't finish higher, but the vast majority of the male crowd, (or not - I don't know the ratio of sexuality!), had their eyes firmly in the direction of the soft porn show on stage. I can put it no other way.
10) Greece - Freaky Fortune ft. RiskyKidd - 'Rise Up' - 20th with 35 points
I just had to double and triple check there to make sure that's indeed where they did finish... It was 3rd on my list of favourite songs for tonight, and certainly ranks up there with one of the few injustices of this year! They so nearly mucked up their semi-final performance on Thursday, but didn't tonight and they were brilliant. It's a young, vibrant dance song, and so right up my street. Unsure of the need for the trampoline at the end, but hey... Its Eurovision! Why not...
11) Austria - Conchita Wurst - 'Rise Like a Phoenix' - 1ST WITH 290 POINTS
Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. What a song! What a person! I remember saying last year that Emmelie De Forest was a deserving winner, and she was, but Conchita is an absolute inspiration. All the pre-competition talk was based around her, and her beard, and many feared that Europe simply wasn't ready to vote for a non-gender conforming person to win. But Europe proved they are indeed becoming more and more accepting.
Her performance, and indeed the song, was stunning. I gave it douze points on Thursday in her semi-final and gave her the same tonight. Her voice was so powerful, her dress was beautiful and the whole performance was a delight to watch. A deserving winner for sure, and a huge victory for the LGBT community in particular.
12) Germany - Elaiza - 'Is It Right' - 18th with 39 points
It was always going to be difficult following an act like Conchita Wurst and so it showed as the German entry merely got lost in the backdrop of the beard. It was actually quite a good song. I quite liked it, but I was still raving about how amazing Conchita was to pay full attention to it. Germany hasn't done well recently, and they're poor form continued with a lowly position in Copenhagen.
13) Sweden - Sanna Nielsen - 'Undo' - 3rd with 218 points
When I first heard this song, I wasn't all that impressed. However, it has grown on me a lot and her grand final performance was the best of all the performances I've seen from her. Her vocals were superb, and with a physical likeness to Kim Cattrell, it was always going to do well in their neighbouring country.
14) France - Twin Twin - 'Moustache' - 26th with 2 points
Stone dead last. It's not difficult to see why as it seemed the French didn't really take this year's competition seriously, but I think last place is a bit harsh. It was a fun song but halfway through the list of songs, people want to see power and gusto and this sort of offering merely angered the crowd. At one stage, it seemed destined to finish on 'nil points', but a couple of single-point votes from poor countries who felt sorry for them was enough to get them on the board. Let's hope for a better French entry next year...
15) Russia - The Tolmachevy Sisters - 'Shine' - 7th with 89 points
Where do we start? It seemed unfair to boo a pair of 17-year old sisters, but Europe cannot be silenced. I did find it quite annoying that they were ironically singing about "showing the world some love" but for millions of people to be collectively booing them for the actions of the Russian establishment was, as Graham Norton put it, "extremely harsh". The song itself? It wasn't up to much. A seesaw and a random hair connection thing was all it had going for it, and along with the obvious unrest surrounding the whole thing, I'm surprised it finished 7th. I was happy to see the song finish.
16) Italy - Emma - 'La Mia Citta' - 21st with 33 points
By this stage, I was getting a little agitated at the ever-increasing run of disappointing songs. I found myself starting to get bored and this song didn't help. I can't even remember a lot about it to describe it to you, but it wasn't a surprising final position for one of the so-called "power 5". Arrivederci.
17) Slovenia - Tinkara Kovac - 'Round and Round' - 25th with 9 points
Its quite annoying how songs like this can finish below the likes of Norway. More Irish than Ireland, it was a solid Eurovision offering that Europe merely forgot about. It did make me quite dizzy, as the title suggests, but it was a good song and Tinkara once more looked wonderful in her dress. 9 points? I think it should have at least made it to the left-hand side of our screens.
18) Finland - Softengine - 'Something Better' - 11th with 72 points
He he he... I'm sorry, but I was infatuated with these guys. During the semi-final, I was intent on getting the number of the drummer. But, I must act professional, and provide you with a review of the song. The performance was great! The light show was awesome, the vibe was "sick" as the youth say, and all in all, it was a pretty good show from the country that bought us 'Hard Rock Hallelujah'.
Ok, honestly? I wasn't listening to the song.
19) Spain - Ruth Lorenzo - 'Dancing in the Rain' - 10th with 74 points
We were taken back to the X Factor on Saturday night with the presence of Miss. Lorenzo representing her native Espana! It was a great song, and of course, she has an even greater voice making for a very good song. Spain have been utter useless for the past few years, (El Chiki-Chiki anyone?) so to hear a good entry from them is refreshing. 10th is probably fair, but would like to have seen it go a couple of places higher...
20) Switzerland - Sebalter - 'Hunter of Stars' - 13th with 64 points
I really, really, really liked this song in the semi-finals. The whistling was infectious and the rest of the song was almost mesmeric but in the grand final, it just didn't happen for me. It just seemed a bit... conservative. And static. I genuinely think there were better performances on the night and I'm not entirely surprised it finished 13th.
21) Hungary - Andras Kally-Saunders - 'Running' - 5th with 143 points
The most "clubby" song of the evening for sure, it was a refreshing and original entry for Hungary, which probably explained why it finished as high as it did. At one stage, it looked nailed on to be at least in the running for outright victory but it fell out of contention as Austria streamed ahead. One of my friends noted that people may not have voted for him because he wasn't white - a fair observation - but as with La Conchita, Europe may just have jumped that hurdle. Fantastic!
22) Malta - Firelight - 'Coming Home' - 23rd with 32 points
A lot of people, in the UK especially, were raving about this song on social media, but I didn't see the appeal. And neither did Europe. It was another forgettable song, and towards the end of the running order as well, it needs something special to get into people's heads. This... Wasn't.
23) Denmark - Bruno... Sorry, I mean... Basim! - 'Cliché Love Song' - 9th with 74 points
Did someone say Bruno Mars? The likeness was unbelievable and frankly, the song might well have been copied from the Mars back catalogue. It was a good song, although not entirely foreboding and for me, it was just too similar to what we've been inundated with already in the music charts. Seemed to go down well with everyone, but I wasn't fooled. 9th was fair. No higher.
24) The Netherlands - The Common Linnets - 'Calm After the Storm' - 2nd with 238 points
I'm fairly sure I didn't speak to one person who loved this song as much as I did. I only downloaded three songs from iTunes afterwards. Austria. Greece. And this. Oh, it was just wonderful. Unique, both great voices and it was a perfect song to have at this time of the competition.
Its a simple observation, but I quite liked the setup of the microphones. It was like one microphone splitting into two, just increased the chemistry these two had on the stage, and if it wasn't for the simply unbelievable Conchita, these two would have won and should have won. It was billed as the "dark horse" of the competition by our host Graham Norton, and I'm pleased they lived up to that billing!
Just a side note, as the end of the voting grew nearer, this was still in big contention. If the 2015 edition was being hosted in Amsterdam, I definitely would have gone. Hey ho.
25) San Marino - Valentina Monetta - 'Maybe' - 24th with 14 points
I was very pleased for Valentina as she made it through to the grand final at her lucky 3rd attempt, but I'm sorry, the song was just plain boring. I didn't get it. And at second-to-last in the running order behind what was to be the act we were all waiting for, (Can you guess who's missing?!), it just went straight over my head. Hopefully we'll see her again though!
26) The United Kingdom - Molly Smitten-Downes - 'Children of the Universe' - 17th with 40 points
Its such a shame that this was drawn last on the billing because it is genuinely the best song that the UK have offered Eurovision in this century. It was a fantastic song, but we both felt that she could have given it a bit more welly. It seemed to be a largely conservative performance, as if Molly knew she wasn't going to win from last place. 17th was a harsh final position, but not altogether unsurprising.
All in all though it was a great, great show and I'm already looking forward to Austria 2015! Congratulations to Conchita Wurst. You could see how much it meant to her, and her rousing words at the end were a great message to the whole of Europe. Love beats hate. As it should!
Just like last year, I watched both semi-finals and indeed Saturday night's Grand Final and what a spectacle it was! When I first heard the songs a few months back, I did wonder where the quality was, but a number of the songs grew on me, and it turned into one of the greatest and most wide-open contests since, in my opinion, 2008. Shall we go through the songs? Why not!
...
1) Ukraine - Mariya Yaremchuk - 'Tick Tock' - Final Position: 6th with 113 points
Its never a good thing to be first up on the Grand Final stage, but this song did well. I thought the song was fairly ordinary, but the presence of a man running around a hamster wheel seemed to appeal to the European crowd! Would it be slightly harsh to suggest that Ukraine received some of the compassion vote?
2) Belarus - Teo - 'Cheesecake' - Final Position: 16th with 43 points
This was a cheeky little number, and certainly a favourite of my flatmates because of its simple nature. I'm slightly surprised it didn't do a tad better, but no one has ever won the contest from 2nd on the running order. A tough ask for the gentlemen, but the song was performed well and they can be proud of their efforts.
3) Azerbaijan - Dilara Kazimova - 'Start a Fire' - 22nd with 33 points
I would talk about this song in a manner that suggests I'm an avid Eurovision fan, but honestly? I can't remember much about it. One of the more forgettable songs of this years competition, and the presence of a trapeze merely made it look they couldn't be bothered. What was the point of a trapeze? Not original whatsoever, and despite Dilara looking stunning, it was largely disappointing. Europe agreed.
4) Iceland - Pollaponk - 'No Prejudice' - 15th with 58 points
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| Oh, the colour! |
5) Norway - Carl Espen - 'Silent Storm' - 8th with 88 points
I wish it was silent. This years contribution to the wrist-slitting club came from Norway and Mr.Espen, and I have to say, it was hideous. Europe seems to like a slow, depressing number to break up the evening and calm the crowd down from its light-induced fervour of excitement, but I most certainly don't. It brought the first yawn of the night and I was pleased to see it disappear off our screen. Annoyed it came 8th above some much, much better offerings of music.
6) Romania - Paula Seling & Ovi - 'Miracle' - 11th with 72 points
People were raving about this on social media, and certainly a favourite of my good Eurovision friends in Northampton, but I didn't quite understand the euphoria behind it. (Notice the deliberate choice of Eurovision wording there? Good.)
Sure, it was a good song, but again, I struggle to find why it went down so well. 11th place was probably just about right for it, but no higher.
7) Armenia - Aram MP3 - 'Not Alone' - 4th with 174 points
Oh purrrr-lease. This was one of the pre-competition favourites and frankly I have no idea how. He shouted his way through his semi-final, and he seemed to carry that on in the final with a horrible performance of his so-called "song". He looked quite scary as well, and despite a brief moment where I thought the song would pick up and become "average" from "largely rubbish", it didn't. Add a '1' on the front of his eventual position, and that is where it truly belonged.
8) Montenegro - Sergej Cetkovic - 'Moj Svijet' - 19th with 37 points
A shame really, because I liked it. One of the minority of songs to be sung in their native language, it had a good melody to it and Sergej performed it admirably. I LOVED the ice-skating and the stage graphics as well, but, as is usually the case, Europe disagreed!
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| Sergej Cetkovic proved to be overrated by the European audience! |
Ahem. Right. Okay. Hands up, who actually listened to the song? Bearing in mind the female contingent on stage aren't quite my type, I did. I'll let you know how it went. It was fairly entertaining. I didn't like it a lot in the semi-final, but it grew on me in the final. Not entirely surprised it didn't finish higher, but the vast majority of the male crowd, (or not - I don't know the ratio of sexuality!), had their eyes firmly in the direction of the soft porn show on stage. I can put it no other way.
10) Greece - Freaky Fortune ft. RiskyKidd - 'Rise Up' - 20th with 35 points
I just had to double and triple check there to make sure that's indeed where they did finish... It was 3rd on my list of favourite songs for tonight, and certainly ranks up there with one of the few injustices of this year! They so nearly mucked up their semi-final performance on Thursday, but didn't tonight and they were brilliant. It's a young, vibrant dance song, and so right up my street. Unsure of the need for the trampoline at the end, but hey... Its Eurovision! Why not...
11) Austria - Conchita Wurst - 'Rise Like a Phoenix' - 1ST WITH 290 POINTS
Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. What a song! What a person! I remember saying last year that Emmelie De Forest was a deserving winner, and she was, but Conchita is an absolute inspiration. All the pre-competition talk was based around her, and her beard, and many feared that Europe simply wasn't ready to vote for a non-gender conforming person to win. But Europe proved they are indeed becoming more and more accepting.
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| 'The Bearded Lady' blew the crowd away with a stunning performance. My favourite winner of all time! |
Her performance, and indeed the song, was stunning. I gave it douze points on Thursday in her semi-final and gave her the same tonight. Her voice was so powerful, her dress was beautiful and the whole performance was a delight to watch. A deserving winner for sure, and a huge victory for the LGBT community in particular.
12) Germany - Elaiza - 'Is It Right' - 18th with 39 points
It was always going to be difficult following an act like Conchita Wurst and so it showed as the German entry merely got lost in the backdrop of the beard. It was actually quite a good song. I quite liked it, but I was still raving about how amazing Conchita was to pay full attention to it. Germany hasn't done well recently, and they're poor form continued with a lowly position in Copenhagen.
13) Sweden - Sanna Nielsen - 'Undo' - 3rd with 218 points
When I first heard this song, I wasn't all that impressed. However, it has grown on me a lot and her grand final performance was the best of all the performances I've seen from her. Her vocals were superb, and with a physical likeness to Kim Cattrell, it was always going to do well in their neighbouring country.
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| 'Undo My Sad' was a big hit in the European mainland! |
Stone dead last. It's not difficult to see why as it seemed the French didn't really take this year's competition seriously, but I think last place is a bit harsh. It was a fun song but halfway through the list of songs, people want to see power and gusto and this sort of offering merely angered the crowd. At one stage, it seemed destined to finish on 'nil points', but a couple of single-point votes from poor countries who felt sorry for them was enough to get them on the board. Let's hope for a better French entry next year...
15) Russia - The Tolmachevy Sisters - 'Shine' - 7th with 89 points
Where do we start? It seemed unfair to boo a pair of 17-year old sisters, but Europe cannot be silenced. I did find it quite annoying that they were ironically singing about "showing the world some love" but for millions of people to be collectively booing them for the actions of the Russian establishment was, as Graham Norton put it, "extremely harsh". The song itself? It wasn't up to much. A seesaw and a random hair connection thing was all it had going for it, and along with the obvious unrest surrounding the whole thing, I'm surprised it finished 7th. I was happy to see the song finish.
16) Italy - Emma - 'La Mia Citta' - 21st with 33 points
By this stage, I was getting a little agitated at the ever-increasing run of disappointing songs. I found myself starting to get bored and this song didn't help. I can't even remember a lot about it to describe it to you, but it wasn't a surprising final position for one of the so-called "power 5". Arrivederci.
17) Slovenia - Tinkara Kovac - 'Round and Round' - 25th with 9 points
Its quite annoying how songs like this can finish below the likes of Norway. More Irish than Ireland, it was a solid Eurovision offering that Europe merely forgot about. It did make me quite dizzy, as the title suggests, but it was a good song and Tinkara once more looked wonderful in her dress. 9 points? I think it should have at least made it to the left-hand side of our screens.
18) Finland - Softengine - 'Something Better' - 11th with 72 points
He he he... I'm sorry, but I was infatuated with these guys. During the semi-final, I was intent on getting the number of the drummer. But, I must act professional, and provide you with a review of the song. The performance was great! The light show was awesome, the vibe was "sick" as the youth say, and all in all, it was a pretty good show from the country that bought us 'Hard Rock Hallelujah'.
Ok, honestly? I wasn't listening to the song.
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| The drummer was even better... |
We were taken back to the X Factor on Saturday night with the presence of Miss. Lorenzo representing her native Espana! It was a great song, and of course, she has an even greater voice making for a very good song. Spain have been utter useless for the past few years, (El Chiki-Chiki anyone?) so to hear a good entry from them is refreshing. 10th is probably fair, but would like to have seen it go a couple of places higher...
20) Switzerland - Sebalter - 'Hunter of Stars' - 13th with 64 points
I really, really, really liked this song in the semi-finals. The whistling was infectious and the rest of the song was almost mesmeric but in the grand final, it just didn't happen for me. It just seemed a bit... conservative. And static. I genuinely think there were better performances on the night and I'm not entirely surprised it finished 13th.
21) Hungary - Andras Kally-Saunders - 'Running' - 5th with 143 points
The most "clubby" song of the evening for sure, it was a refreshing and original entry for Hungary, which probably explained why it finished as high as it did. At one stage, it looked nailed on to be at least in the running for outright victory but it fell out of contention as Austria streamed ahead. One of my friends noted that people may not have voted for him because he wasn't white - a fair observation - but as with La Conchita, Europe may just have jumped that hurdle. Fantastic!
22) Malta - Firelight - 'Coming Home' - 23rd with 32 points
A lot of people, in the UK especially, were raving about this song on social media, but I didn't see the appeal. And neither did Europe. It was another forgettable song, and towards the end of the running order as well, it needs something special to get into people's heads. This... Wasn't.
23) Denmark - Bruno... Sorry, I mean... Basim! - 'Cliché Love Song' - 9th with 74 points
Did someone say Bruno Mars? The likeness was unbelievable and frankly, the song might well have been copied from the Mars back catalogue. It was a good song, although not entirely foreboding and for me, it was just too similar to what we've been inundated with already in the music charts. Seemed to go down well with everyone, but I wasn't fooled. 9th was fair. No higher.
24) The Netherlands - The Common Linnets - 'Calm After the Storm' - 2nd with 238 points
I'm fairly sure I didn't speak to one person who loved this song as much as I did. I only downloaded three songs from iTunes afterwards. Austria. Greece. And this. Oh, it was just wonderful. Unique, both great voices and it was a perfect song to have at this time of the competition.
 |
| Just beautiful... |
Just a side note, as the end of the voting grew nearer, this was still in big contention. If the 2015 edition was being hosted in Amsterdam, I definitely would have gone. Hey ho.
25) San Marino - Valentina Monetta - 'Maybe' - 24th with 14 points
I was very pleased for Valentina as she made it through to the grand final at her lucky 3rd attempt, but I'm sorry, the song was just plain boring. I didn't get it. And at second-to-last in the running order behind what was to be the act we were all waiting for, (Can you guess who's missing?!), it just went straight over my head. Hopefully we'll see her again though!
26) The United Kingdom - Molly Smitten-Downes - 'Children of the Universe' - 17th with 40 points
Its such a shame that this was drawn last on the billing because it is genuinely the best song that the UK have offered Eurovision in this century. It was a fantastic song, but we both felt that she could have given it a bit more welly. It seemed to be a largely conservative performance, as if Molly knew she wasn't going to win from last place. 17th was a harsh final position, but not altogether unsurprising.
 |
| Better luck next year? |
All in all though it was a great, great show and I'm already looking forward to Austria 2015! Congratulations to Conchita Wurst. You could see how much it meant to her, and her rousing words at the end were a great message to the whole of Europe. Love beats hate. As it should!
Tuesday 8 April 2014
The Vauxhall Experience
This is Part 2 of the exclusive London night life saga, and just like last year's edition, it was a quite brilliant evening full of music, celebrities and reflection. It was the 2nd birthday party of RUComingOut, the website I donated my coming out story to back in January 2013. Last year's party was in Soho and I was terribly nervous leading up to it, but it turned into an absolutely memorable evening. This time around, it was less nerves, but the same level of excitement, and it didn't disappoint!
Myself and the wonderful Tara, my +1 for this year, caught the train to St.Pancras and then on to Vauxhall when we found out we didn't quite know where we were going. Last year, my old phone had a useful GPS app, but my new phone has no such technological device, so we were stumped. A taxi seemed the only logical option until I walked past a familiar looking face. We looked at each other in that way that suggests we've seen each other before, but couldn't think where from....
"HEY SIMON!" ... "Hey Tom! How are you?" Phew. I had found someone! I felt instantly overdressed as he was wearing a shirt and jeans and I was all dressed up in my jet black shirt and red bow tie, (remember... Bow ties are cool!) but it barely mattered. We still ended up a little lost, but found our way to The Eagle on Kennington Lane and walked in. It was already quite busy, a far cry from being fashionably early this time last year, and we instantly separated and started mingling. Unlike last year, I saw a few familiar faces, including the founder of the website, Wayne, who was as charming and cheerful as ever! In an environment such as this, mingling is easy. Everyone in the room was like me, sometimes feeling on the outside of the group or different in some way at some part of their lives, and walking up and talking to them was pretty easy. I met a lot of people last Thursday night, including Mr. Dan Gillespie-Sells from the band, The Feeling and legendary LGBT hostess, Sandra London. I also had a chat with Chris Steed, who is one of the gay chaps from the bizarrely brilliant show on Channel 4, 'Gogglebox'. There were many acts on the stage at the front of the venue, including a quite brilliant acoustic set from The Feeling's lead singer and Radio 1 DJ, Adele Roberts. But it was simply great to walk around and talk to other people like me, in a brand new venue. Having a few drinks along the way. What can be better?
It was a quite marvellous evening, and after the events of recent times, a welcome break. In 9 days time, myself and 15 team mates embark on a pre-season cricket tour of Cardiff. I cannot put into words how excited I am. A smile breaks across my face every time I think about it.
Until then, its back to looking forward to the main season and fighting the recent battles.
Myself and the wonderful Tara, my +1 for this year, caught the train to St.Pancras and then on to Vauxhall when we found out we didn't quite know where we were going. Last year, my old phone had a useful GPS app, but my new phone has no such technological device, so we were stumped. A taxi seemed the only logical option until I walked past a familiar looking face. We looked at each other in that way that suggests we've seen each other before, but couldn't think where from....
"HEY SIMON!" ... "Hey Tom! How are you?" Phew. I had found someone! I felt instantly overdressed as he was wearing a shirt and jeans and I was all dressed up in my jet black shirt and red bow tie, (remember... Bow ties are cool!) but it barely mattered. We still ended up a little lost, but found our way to The Eagle on Kennington Lane and walked in. It was already quite busy, a far cry from being fashionably early this time last year, and we instantly separated and started mingling. Unlike last year, I saw a few familiar faces, including the founder of the website, Wayne, who was as charming and cheerful as ever! In an environment such as this, mingling is easy. Everyone in the room was like me, sometimes feeling on the outside of the group or different in some way at some part of their lives, and walking up and talking to them was pretty easy. I met a lot of people last Thursday night, including Mr. Dan Gillespie-Sells from the band, The Feeling and legendary LGBT hostess, Sandra London. I also had a chat with Chris Steed, who is one of the gay chaps from the bizarrely brilliant show on Channel 4, 'Gogglebox'. There were many acts on the stage at the front of the venue, including a quite brilliant acoustic set from The Feeling's lead singer and Radio 1 DJ, Adele Roberts. But it was simply great to walk around and talk to other people like me, in a brand new venue. Having a few drinks along the way. What can be better?
It was a quite marvellous evening, and after the events of recent times, a welcome break. In 9 days time, myself and 15 team mates embark on a pre-season cricket tour of Cardiff. I cannot put into words how excited I am. A smile breaks across my face every time I think about it.
Until then, its back to looking forward to the main season and fighting the recent battles.
Wednesday 26 March 2014
Here We Go Again
Here we go again. A number of months after one "setback", another "setback" comes along and we're back at square one. I don't know how many "setbacks" one can have before it becomes something else, but I must be close to the maximum number. If I were a cat, I'd be nearing mortality. If I was a human, I'd be able to move on. Throughout this month, with the usual major downs and moments of complete alienation that are related to my incidents, I have reached a sobering conclusion. I don't think I can bounce back from this one.
I once imagined I'd have a successful life. Before I continue, I'd like to point out that I think my definition of "successful" differs from most other people's. I want to be someone. I don't want to be a nobody. You can summon up all the crap you like about "everyone being somebody", but I've never believed that to be true. People drift through their life without anything happening to them. The same routine day after day, month after month. No change. Nothing. I can't let that happen to me. The idea of living a grey life, with grey surroundings, grey food and no activity fills me with absolute dread. The idea of doing the opposite - any idea - fills me with anxiety and unnerving uncertainty.
"Sure", people say. "But you can change that. Go out and explore the world". I tried that. My own head beat me.
Other people say, "You can be whoever you want to be". Wise words I'm sure, but what if you haven't got a clue where to start?
"Meeting new people can lead to wondrous new ventures". Meeting new people makes me so anxious these days that we reach the same conclusions as everything else I try.
Everything I can do to fix this leads to a negative outcome. Everything I have tried to fix this leads to insult, silence or a desperate attempt from people who know about me to comfort my thoughts. My own brain is killing me. And as far as I can see, I can't change that. I honestly gave up trying to fix it about a year ago. I gave up trying to fix what was going on and instead chose to self-destruct. Live manically now and deal with the consequences in your own unique way later. Admittedly, "exploring the world" didn't cross my mind as a viable option back then. When Australia cropped up out of nowhere, I genuinely thought that was my escape route. I honestly thought I could start again on the other side of the world. I naively thought that the only thing I live for these days, cricket, was indeed enough to simply forget to be me. Yet, I was beaten again. After that, I went back to self-destruct mode. I went back to Plan Z.
Of course, we've been here before. Oh, we most certainly have. Running away from home when I was still at school, completely folding in important exams due to this, that and everything going on inside my own head. Quitting my first job out of pure and immeasurable fear of my own boss' reaction to a mistake. The complete and utter depression of the 'night-shift phase', which allowed for a young man to trek the UK on rare time off and hospitalise himself with alcohol misuse, before dealing with the inevitable depression that follows excessive use of drink as a deterrant to thoughts of failure. Followed by the complete nerve destroying experience of learning all about financial services. I kept myself going through that particular "new job stage" telling myself that, once I had worked it out, I would have found myself settled down, and in a respectable job. Except, ultimately, it never worked out that way. After each example, apart from the last, I had something to blame. An illness so deep in its ruthlessness that most people sympathised. I fought back each time, telling myself that it will subside, at least for long enough to be able to get back on my feet and battle on. The first couple of times, I was again naive enough to think these events were merely a blip in life's tapestry and all will get better. For a couple of years, I came to accept that I go through a cycle, usually seasonal. But when it got to New Years Eve 2012, I gave up completely.
It feels like everything I have ever experienced goes in a downward spiral. I'm now finding myself in the same spiral for life itself. I'm yo-yo'ing from stages of defiance to some of the worst thoughts that have ever gone through my head. And I can tell you, they're pretty bad. I gave up everything on New Years Eve 2012 except for mere existence. It was at that point I turned to self-destruct. Live the high life in any means possible because the consequences won't matter. I came to that conclusion based on a mindset of fear and the complete lack of a thirst for life.
I had a good enough winter period, as good as can be expected anyway, except I can't help but wonder that it was because of my self-destruction "plan". We're just under a month from the cricket pre-season tour to Cardiff and happiness is just around the corner. At least it should be. Instead, I find myself at the beginning of another rebuilding session, genuinely questioning if I have the stomach or the fortitude to start all over again. There is a major difference this time round than other times. Other times, it was my own head doing the damage. This time, its my own fault. I cannot possibly sit here and claim that my obvious troubles led me to do what I did. I made a major, major mistake, and its led me to lose a lot. It has the potential to lose me everything. And I have nothing or no one to blame it on, and I'm terrified. What's more, is I knew this was coming.
For its true. I've been racking my brains for this whole month, trying to find reasons as to why this is happening to me. Not just the events of the past month, but all of it. Its obvious I have problems with anxiety and depression, but what caused them? Why me? And this is the point where I go back to my first paragraph. I simply cannot live this mundane life that is promised. The obvious conclusion to come to if one doesn't know what to do with their life is to merely trudge along, no? How can one enjoy his hobbies, when they are largely non-existent? How can one enjoy their career if they can't find an enjoyable path hence hate going to to work? How can one enjoy another's love if they cannot even love themselves or those closest to them? Its the last question that scares me the most. The realisation that the vast majority of my friendships are not real friendships. I appreciate friends, and I care for them, but love? I appreciate my family, and I am lucky to have them but do I love them? I don't know if I do. I don't think I know how to love.
I don't think I belong in this world. Its a competitive world, full of hard-working, confident, aspirational people and I can't compete. My mum would say that this is fine, and not everyone can be ambitious and full of life, but its not fine. Not one bit. I cannot see the positives of going to work every day, in a job that doesn't excite you, (not knowing what to do will lead to any job doing this), coming home to nothing, (because all the money you have is spent on being independent), and going round and round in circles. That is not okay. Changing that pattern is impossible because I don't know when I'm next going to turn into my monster. I could literally sit here for hours and complain about everything. Literally, everything. Every little thing about this world irritates me to kingdom come, but I cannot complain because, especially now, I would merely be another hypocrite.
"Why do people talk to me sometimes as if I'm a patient on the edge?!" .... Oh yeah....
"Why aren't I working in the city, or in the midst of building a career?!" .... Oh yeah....
"Why am I sitting in a flat I can't afford eating a ready meal out of a box?!" .... Oh yeah....
This huge, ever-increasing ball of knots sits in my brain like a tumour. Becoming increasingly more difficult to untangle or digest. I just don't know where to turn to any more. Because of all of this, the oh so basic things in life become pointless. Before we get to the point where there is no point even getting out of bed. Right now, I am at that point. I'm even contemplating a summer without cricket, or socialising or friendship because I fear I will grind to a halt. I'm scared the very few things I have left will get sucked into the black hole, because I made one damned mistake. That is my ultimate fear.
I don't know what I want. I don't know where I want to be. I don't know where I am. And the worst one of all... I don't even know who I am anymore. I am completely lost.
Ultimately, and soberingly, I am no one. And there is nothing I despise more than that.
I once imagined I'd have a successful life. Before I continue, I'd like to point out that I think my definition of "successful" differs from most other people's. I want to be someone. I don't want to be a nobody. You can summon up all the crap you like about "everyone being somebody", but I've never believed that to be true. People drift through their life without anything happening to them. The same routine day after day, month after month. No change. Nothing. I can't let that happen to me. The idea of living a grey life, with grey surroundings, grey food and no activity fills me with absolute dread. The idea of doing the opposite - any idea - fills me with anxiety and unnerving uncertainty.
"Sure", people say. "But you can change that. Go out and explore the world". I tried that. My own head beat me.
Other people say, "You can be whoever you want to be". Wise words I'm sure, but what if you haven't got a clue where to start?
"Meeting new people can lead to wondrous new ventures". Meeting new people makes me so anxious these days that we reach the same conclusions as everything else I try.
Everything I can do to fix this leads to a negative outcome. Everything I have tried to fix this leads to insult, silence or a desperate attempt from people who know about me to comfort my thoughts. My own brain is killing me. And as far as I can see, I can't change that. I honestly gave up trying to fix it about a year ago. I gave up trying to fix what was going on and instead chose to self-destruct. Live manically now and deal with the consequences in your own unique way later. Admittedly, "exploring the world" didn't cross my mind as a viable option back then. When Australia cropped up out of nowhere, I genuinely thought that was my escape route. I honestly thought I could start again on the other side of the world. I naively thought that the only thing I live for these days, cricket, was indeed enough to simply forget to be me. Yet, I was beaten again. After that, I went back to self-destruct mode. I went back to Plan Z.
Of course, we've been here before. Oh, we most certainly have. Running away from home when I was still at school, completely folding in important exams due to this, that and everything going on inside my own head. Quitting my first job out of pure and immeasurable fear of my own boss' reaction to a mistake. The complete and utter depression of the 'night-shift phase', which allowed for a young man to trek the UK on rare time off and hospitalise himself with alcohol misuse, before dealing with the inevitable depression that follows excessive use of drink as a deterrant to thoughts of failure. Followed by the complete nerve destroying experience of learning all about financial services. I kept myself going through that particular "new job stage" telling myself that, once I had worked it out, I would have found myself settled down, and in a respectable job. Except, ultimately, it never worked out that way. After each example, apart from the last, I had something to blame. An illness so deep in its ruthlessness that most people sympathised. I fought back each time, telling myself that it will subside, at least for long enough to be able to get back on my feet and battle on. The first couple of times, I was again naive enough to think these events were merely a blip in life's tapestry and all will get better. For a couple of years, I came to accept that I go through a cycle, usually seasonal. But when it got to New Years Eve 2012, I gave up completely.
It feels like everything I have ever experienced goes in a downward spiral. I'm now finding myself in the same spiral for life itself. I'm yo-yo'ing from stages of defiance to some of the worst thoughts that have ever gone through my head. And I can tell you, they're pretty bad. I gave up everything on New Years Eve 2012 except for mere existence. It was at that point I turned to self-destruct. Live the high life in any means possible because the consequences won't matter. I came to that conclusion based on a mindset of fear and the complete lack of a thirst for life.
I had a good enough winter period, as good as can be expected anyway, except I can't help but wonder that it was because of my self-destruction "plan". We're just under a month from the cricket pre-season tour to Cardiff and happiness is just around the corner. At least it should be. Instead, I find myself at the beginning of another rebuilding session, genuinely questioning if I have the stomach or the fortitude to start all over again. There is a major difference this time round than other times. Other times, it was my own head doing the damage. This time, its my own fault. I cannot possibly sit here and claim that my obvious troubles led me to do what I did. I made a major, major mistake, and its led me to lose a lot. It has the potential to lose me everything. And I have nothing or no one to blame it on, and I'm terrified. What's more, is I knew this was coming.
For its true. I've been racking my brains for this whole month, trying to find reasons as to why this is happening to me. Not just the events of the past month, but all of it. Its obvious I have problems with anxiety and depression, but what caused them? Why me? And this is the point where I go back to my first paragraph. I simply cannot live this mundane life that is promised. The obvious conclusion to come to if one doesn't know what to do with their life is to merely trudge along, no? How can one enjoy his hobbies, when they are largely non-existent? How can one enjoy their career if they can't find an enjoyable path hence hate going to to work? How can one enjoy another's love if they cannot even love themselves or those closest to them? Its the last question that scares me the most. The realisation that the vast majority of my friendships are not real friendships. I appreciate friends, and I care for them, but love? I appreciate my family, and I am lucky to have them but do I love them? I don't know if I do. I don't think I know how to love.
I don't think I belong in this world. Its a competitive world, full of hard-working, confident, aspirational people and I can't compete. My mum would say that this is fine, and not everyone can be ambitious and full of life, but its not fine. Not one bit. I cannot see the positives of going to work every day, in a job that doesn't excite you, (not knowing what to do will lead to any job doing this), coming home to nothing, (because all the money you have is spent on being independent), and going round and round in circles. That is not okay. Changing that pattern is impossible because I don't know when I'm next going to turn into my monster. I could literally sit here for hours and complain about everything. Literally, everything. Every little thing about this world irritates me to kingdom come, but I cannot complain because, especially now, I would merely be another hypocrite.
"Why do people talk to me sometimes as if I'm a patient on the edge?!" .... Oh yeah....
"Why aren't I working in the city, or in the midst of building a career?!" .... Oh yeah....
"Why am I sitting in a flat I can't afford eating a ready meal out of a box?!" .... Oh yeah....
This huge, ever-increasing ball of knots sits in my brain like a tumour. Becoming increasingly more difficult to untangle or digest. I just don't know where to turn to any more. Because of all of this, the oh so basic things in life become pointless. Before we get to the point where there is no point even getting out of bed. Right now, I am at that point. I'm even contemplating a summer without cricket, or socialising or friendship because I fear I will grind to a halt. I'm scared the very few things I have left will get sucked into the black hole, because I made one damned mistake. That is my ultimate fear.
I don't know what I want. I don't know where I want to be. I don't know where I am. And the worst one of all... I don't even know who I am anymore. I am completely lost.
Ultimately, and soberingly, I am no one. And there is nothing I despise more than that.
Sunday 16 March 2014
Confessions of an Amateur Cricketer
First it was football, going up through the ranks. School 1st team, followed by captaining an all-winning youth side followed by Luton Town School of Excellence before I lost interest. Then it was tennis. Member of one of the nations top clubs, Under 17 County doubles champion at the age of 15, going places. Before I lost interest. Golf intertwined with my tennis commitments, being a member of the local club and becoming Junior Club Champion, coming from 6 shots behind on the final day to poach it by a single putt. Before I lost interest.
Cricket is different though. I started playing when I was 16, and the anticipation for each new season grows and grows each year. Interest is not waning, but increasing. This is the story of my brief time out in the middle...
I was still at school when I played in my first team. Aspen CC, created by a bunch of friends who used to play on the playing fields of Aspen Avenue in Bedford. A lot of them were established players with Bedford CC, which would be the club that would hold a place in my heart in the future. For the time being though, I was a complete novice. Sure, I could hold a bat correctly, but I wasn't much cop with it. We played in a midweek league, 16 overs per side, akin to the shorter formats you might see on the TV nowadays. The midweek game was, and still is, a game for the wily bowler and the boom boom big-hitters, and bearing in mind I am neither even now, I most certainly wasn't back then. When I got my opportunity to play, I was stuck down the order, batting at 8 or 9 and fielded in fairly uninspiring fielding positions. Even so, with the knowledge that I was playing on a Wednesday evening, I would sit at school and daydream about what the evening held. Praying that it wasn't going to rain. I distinctly remember sitting in an IT class one day, and it started raining. Proper, match-ending rain, and I felt devastated. This was the start of an obsession.
When I did get to play though, it was magnificent. My memories of my first season was reaching double figures for the first time, and taking an outrageous one-handed catch at square leg from behind the umpire. From then on, I had discovered an unflappable talent for solid catching, and had acquired a nickname. From then on, I wasn't Tom. But Mitten. Welcome to the life of Mitten! These days, the majority of my friends, especially in the sporting world, have made sure that stuck. Just like the majority of my catches.
It was a couple of years later, after slowly getting more and more opportunities in the midweek game, that I was introduced to players at Bedford Cricket Club. Their 1st team were flying high in the midst of a purple patch and doing well in the Northamptonshire Premier Division, and the 2nd team was a team made up of everyone else. I occasionally got the chance to appear for the 2nd XI when they were short of players, but once again, my unproven ability left me down the batting order and not doing much at all. I think all players go through this stage of being on the fringes when they first start playing the game. These days, we'd be labelled as the 'TFC'. The 'Thanks For Coming'. Making up the numbers. Its a case of sticking it out and waiting for your chance.
One day, playing for the 2nd XI on a horrendous pitch in Roxton, I got that chance. I was asked to bat at number 3, and I could feel my nerves jangling. They were even worse when our opening batsman got out in the 2nd over, so there I was, walking to the crease with my hideously over-oiled Kookaburra Ice bat in hand. I took my guard, (although I still had not worked out what the point of doing it was - I was just copying other people), and faced up to their opening bowler. I was nervous. So nervous, that I ended up poking at the first ball I faced and skied the easiest of return catches to the bowler, and a golden duck to my name. Our team got cleaned up for just 36, and we were home by 3pm. My first foray into the dizzy heights of the batting order had ended in hideous failure.
But from then on, I got more and more opportunities, just like the Aspen days. Filling in for absentees, batting wherever I needed to fill in the space. Sometimes it was 9, sometimes it was 4. I can't recall ever scoring a decent amount of runs, although I do remember being happy with reaching my first quarter-century, with a solid 26 over at Mowsbury Park. I was merely happy to be out there though, soaking in the sun, enjoying the sport and having a laugh, attempting to take any opportunity that came my way. Another of which came at The Bury, our home ground, and an inquiry for me to open the batting. Why not. What's more, I made a new high score of 34 before ideas of a maiden half-century got to my head and I missed a straight ball that clattered into my stumps.
Throughout this initial period of finding my feet at Bedford Cricket Club, I still had this amazing ability to catch any ball that came towards me. Flying one-handers, insane reflexes, and quick thinking were all my forte. I had gathered a bit of a reputation, so I began to be put in the slip cordon, snaffling any edges that came flying in my direction. A reputation that was cemented in an extraordinary game at Bedford Athletic stadium. We had been bowled out for 110, and the opposition were coasting at 81-0 before collapsing. They needed another 10 or so runs with just two wickets remaining when a batsman skied one high into the air. It was left to me to sprint back, looking at the ball drop over my shoulder, and hold on to a very tough chance. Two balls later, the number 11 batsman had edged another one, straight at me at 2nd slip, and we had won from an impossible situation. We all went mental. That was a good day.
It wasn't until the season after however where I started to reach personal milestones with the bat. I reached my first half-century against Aryans at Mowsbury Park, before playing all around the next ball I faced to depart for 50. I was batting with Walter Schlehmeyer at the time, a brilliant and comical South African man, who congratulated me profusely when he could see I was absolutely delighted with a 50. He then had a go at me when I got out next ball! That was my only score of note for the whole of that season, which was my first full season playing for Bedford CC. At the end of that season though, things at Bedford CC took a turn for the worse, with a mass exodus of players all unhappy with the management. Pretty much the whole of the 1st team went elsewhere, leaving us with just one team and not many members. We had to drop down a few divisions to be able to compete, but we set about working our way back up. For the next season, I was a solid squad member who occasionally contributed to the batting score but had also started to bowl. I bowled dibbly-dobbly medium pacers, that were hard to get away, before batsmen lost patience and gifted me wickets. In only my second ever spell as a bowler, I returned figures of 10-4-21-5 (5 wickets for 21 runs in 10 overs), which remain my best ever figures, and probably will do forever. From then on, I had found myself a regular fixture at the top of the order and opening the batting with our Saturday captain and best batsman by far, Andy Collins. We got on well, and we forged a good enough opening partnership with my defensive style complimented by Andy's pure class. We managed to set good platforms for our team mates to build on. We started to set good scores and winning games as we won our Saturday division and narrowly missed out on promotion in our first Sunday season as this new setup.
After Andy moved on to further his promising career, and Sunday captain, competitive South African, Andrew Montieth had decided to step back, I was left with a choice. Captain the sides they had left or follow Andy out. I had started to build confidence in the past year, contributing with a couple of 50s and the usual moment of fielding madness. I remember one specific game, at home vs Ampthill, where I was completely knackered from the exertions of working a night shift the night before. I scored 64 opening the batting, and then stood at 3rd slip, nearly falling asleep, before snaffling two outrageous one-handed catches. Those were strange times. I decided to stay on and captain both sides, two roles I still hold to this day. From then on, I felt an added responsibility to play well and came on leaps and bounds, securing my maiden century in a home game against Cople. Chasing just 164, I set about uncharacteristically bludgeoning the bowling attack. After I had pinged my hamstring, I ended up sitting in my crease and trying to hit everything out of the park. After pulling another short ball to the boundary, my 21st boundary, I heard a cheer and massive applause from the boundaries edge, and held my bat aloft to celebrate my first 100. I now have 4 centuries to my name, with that score of 102 not out, complimented by 119, 124 not out and 153 not out.
With Season 2014 just around the corner, and more immediate personal troubles on the horizon, (apologies for my lack of posts... Long story...), I am longing for it to begin. I miss the long weekends of sun, jokes, and the application of batting. The responsibility of bowling changes and field settings and personal milestones. The mixture of competition and pure enjoyment. This season, we have a pre-season tour to Cardiff over the Easter weekend which involves two one-day games and a Twenty20 surrounded by usual tour antics. I am quite literally counting down the days.
The season proper begins on Saturday 4th May. I can't really put into words how excited I am.
....
In 124 innings in my career, I've hit 2474 runs at an average of 24.25. They include all of my innings from back in the day when I could barely get a run! Last season, I scored 915 runs at an average of 30.88, but at the end of May, I had an average of 1.5. So not too bad! I will be aiming to better that this season, and help Bedford get promoted! Bring it on!
Cricket is different though. I started playing when I was 16, and the anticipation for each new season grows and grows each year. Interest is not waning, but increasing. This is the story of my brief time out in the middle...
I was still at school when I played in my first team. Aspen CC, created by a bunch of friends who used to play on the playing fields of Aspen Avenue in Bedford. A lot of them were established players with Bedford CC, which would be the club that would hold a place in my heart in the future. For the time being though, I was a complete novice. Sure, I could hold a bat correctly, but I wasn't much cop with it. We played in a midweek league, 16 overs per side, akin to the shorter formats you might see on the TV nowadays. The midweek game was, and still is, a game for the wily bowler and the boom boom big-hitters, and bearing in mind I am neither even now, I most certainly wasn't back then. When I got my opportunity to play, I was stuck down the order, batting at 8 or 9 and fielded in fairly uninspiring fielding positions. Even so, with the knowledge that I was playing on a Wednesday evening, I would sit at school and daydream about what the evening held. Praying that it wasn't going to rain. I distinctly remember sitting in an IT class one day, and it started raining. Proper, match-ending rain, and I felt devastated. This was the start of an obsession.
When I did get to play though, it was magnificent. My memories of my first season was reaching double figures for the first time, and taking an outrageous one-handed catch at square leg from behind the umpire. From then on, I had discovered an unflappable talent for solid catching, and had acquired a nickname. From then on, I wasn't Tom. But Mitten. Welcome to the life of Mitten! These days, the majority of my friends, especially in the sporting world, have made sure that stuck. Just like the majority of my catches.
It was a couple of years later, after slowly getting more and more opportunities in the midweek game, that I was introduced to players at Bedford Cricket Club. Their 1st team were flying high in the midst of a purple patch and doing well in the Northamptonshire Premier Division, and the 2nd team was a team made up of everyone else. I occasionally got the chance to appear for the 2nd XI when they were short of players, but once again, my unproven ability left me down the batting order and not doing much at all. I think all players go through this stage of being on the fringes when they first start playing the game. These days, we'd be labelled as the 'TFC'. The 'Thanks For Coming'. Making up the numbers. Its a case of sticking it out and waiting for your chance.
One day, playing for the 2nd XI on a horrendous pitch in Roxton, I got that chance. I was asked to bat at number 3, and I could feel my nerves jangling. They were even worse when our opening batsman got out in the 2nd over, so there I was, walking to the crease with my hideously over-oiled Kookaburra Ice bat in hand. I took my guard, (although I still had not worked out what the point of doing it was - I was just copying other people), and faced up to their opening bowler. I was nervous. So nervous, that I ended up poking at the first ball I faced and skied the easiest of return catches to the bowler, and a golden duck to my name. Our team got cleaned up for just 36, and we were home by 3pm. My first foray into the dizzy heights of the batting order had ended in hideous failure.
But from then on, I got more and more opportunities, just like the Aspen days. Filling in for absentees, batting wherever I needed to fill in the space. Sometimes it was 9, sometimes it was 4. I can't recall ever scoring a decent amount of runs, although I do remember being happy with reaching my first quarter-century, with a solid 26 over at Mowsbury Park. I was merely happy to be out there though, soaking in the sun, enjoying the sport and having a laugh, attempting to take any opportunity that came my way. Another of which came at The Bury, our home ground, and an inquiry for me to open the batting. Why not. What's more, I made a new high score of 34 before ideas of a maiden half-century got to my head and I missed a straight ball that clattered into my stumps.
Throughout this initial period of finding my feet at Bedford Cricket Club, I still had this amazing ability to catch any ball that came towards me. Flying one-handers, insane reflexes, and quick thinking were all my forte. I had gathered a bit of a reputation, so I began to be put in the slip cordon, snaffling any edges that came flying in my direction. A reputation that was cemented in an extraordinary game at Bedford Athletic stadium. We had been bowled out for 110, and the opposition were coasting at 81-0 before collapsing. They needed another 10 or so runs with just two wickets remaining when a batsman skied one high into the air. It was left to me to sprint back, looking at the ball drop over my shoulder, and hold on to a very tough chance. Two balls later, the number 11 batsman had edged another one, straight at me at 2nd slip, and we had won from an impossible situation. We all went mental. That was a good day.
It wasn't until the season after however where I started to reach personal milestones with the bat. I reached my first half-century against Aryans at Mowsbury Park, before playing all around the next ball I faced to depart for 50. I was batting with Walter Schlehmeyer at the time, a brilliant and comical South African man, who congratulated me profusely when he could see I was absolutely delighted with a 50. He then had a go at me when I got out next ball! That was my only score of note for the whole of that season, which was my first full season playing for Bedford CC. At the end of that season though, things at Bedford CC took a turn for the worse, with a mass exodus of players all unhappy with the management. Pretty much the whole of the 1st team went elsewhere, leaving us with just one team and not many members. We had to drop down a few divisions to be able to compete, but we set about working our way back up. For the next season, I was a solid squad member who occasionally contributed to the batting score but had also started to bowl. I bowled dibbly-dobbly medium pacers, that were hard to get away, before batsmen lost patience and gifted me wickets. In only my second ever spell as a bowler, I returned figures of 10-4-21-5 (5 wickets for 21 runs in 10 overs), which remain my best ever figures, and probably will do forever. From then on, I had found myself a regular fixture at the top of the order and opening the batting with our Saturday captain and best batsman by far, Andy Collins. We got on well, and we forged a good enough opening partnership with my defensive style complimented by Andy's pure class. We managed to set good platforms for our team mates to build on. We started to set good scores and winning games as we won our Saturday division and narrowly missed out on promotion in our first Sunday season as this new setup.
After Andy moved on to further his promising career, and Sunday captain, competitive South African, Andrew Montieth had decided to step back, I was left with a choice. Captain the sides they had left or follow Andy out. I had started to build confidence in the past year, contributing with a couple of 50s and the usual moment of fielding madness. I remember one specific game, at home vs Ampthill, where I was completely knackered from the exertions of working a night shift the night before. I scored 64 opening the batting, and then stood at 3rd slip, nearly falling asleep, before snaffling two outrageous one-handed catches. Those were strange times. I decided to stay on and captain both sides, two roles I still hold to this day. From then on, I felt an added responsibility to play well and came on leaps and bounds, securing my maiden century in a home game against Cople. Chasing just 164, I set about uncharacteristically bludgeoning the bowling attack. After I had pinged my hamstring, I ended up sitting in my crease and trying to hit everything out of the park. After pulling another short ball to the boundary, my 21st boundary, I heard a cheer and massive applause from the boundaries edge, and held my bat aloft to celebrate my first 100. I now have 4 centuries to my name, with that score of 102 not out, complimented by 119, 124 not out and 153 not out.
With Season 2014 just around the corner, and more immediate personal troubles on the horizon, (apologies for my lack of posts... Long story...), I am longing for it to begin. I miss the long weekends of sun, jokes, and the application of batting. The responsibility of bowling changes and field settings and personal milestones. The mixture of competition and pure enjoyment. This season, we have a pre-season tour to Cardiff over the Easter weekend which involves two one-day games and a Twenty20 surrounded by usual tour antics. I am quite literally counting down the days.
The season proper begins on Saturday 4th May. I can't really put into words how excited I am.
....
In 124 innings in my career, I've hit 2474 runs at an average of 24.25. They include all of my innings from back in the day when I could barely get a run! Last season, I scored 915 runs at an average of 30.88, but at the end of May, I had an average of 1.5. So not too bad! I will be aiming to better that this season, and help Bedford get promoted! Bring it on!
Wednesday 19 February 2014
London on a Monday Night
There have been many times where I have marveled at the spontaneity of a night. If you count all of the nights out I've ever been on, (obviously... A fair few!), very few can stack up to what just happened to be one of the most enjoyable nights of my life. In London. On a Monday.
It's been a whirlwind few days. Walking home from work on Friday, Valentine's Day, I had a smile on my face as the anticipation of another weekend socialising, spending time with friends old and new and dancing away was on the cards. I was hugely looking forward to it. The weather was absolutely atrocious, and despite that putting a lot of people off, it wasn't going to dampen our spirits, (excuse the alcohol-related pun). We spent the majority of the time in our flat, away from the hurricane force winds and driving rain, drinking, laughing, having fun, dancing around. It was just marvellous. Sure, there were only a few of us, but a weekend having fun always brings an unimaginable smile to my face. It was gone midnight by the time we went out, all fantastically merry if a little damp as we ran from the taxi into our usual weekend haunt. It was at this point where events get a bit blurry, and no... It wasn't the alcohol doing that...
I won't elaborate as to exactly what went on, but in short I was headbutted and ended the night with a bust nose, a fat lip and a face that looked like it had gone through 12 rounds with a particularly irate Tyson Fury. It was gone 6am by the time police left my flat and left me, stunned and broken in my own bedroom. I didn't sleep well that morning, only getting a few hours sleep before giving up entirely and heading into town, feeling particularly self-conscious. It wasn't entirely how I'd imagined my Friday night to pan out, but an experience none the less.
I didn't go out on Saturday night. For the first time in a long, long time I was more than happy to stay in with a blanket and the remote. It was a great choice as my favourite film, 'Inglorious Basterds' was on Channel 4 and I could stay away from what was going to be an enquiring crowd out in town. Waking up on Sunday hangoverless felt good as well.
Sunday was particularly uneventful, unless you count a disappointing indoor cricket performance, and then we were at the beginning of another week. I was actually fairly glad to see Monday morning. The anticipation on Friday was obviously replaced by one of firstly pain and then an insipid mood. Monday was going fairly averagely, until the system decided to crash 15 minutes before the close of play. Without going into boring banking details, it took me 2 and a half hours to get out of the place, by which time I was starving, running late to a cricket event I was supposed to be attending, and wondering when the bad luck was going to end. How many mirrors had I broken? What had I done to deserve these past few days? When was it going to finish?
At the end of the cricket roadshow event, at roughly 9pm, I decided to drop by The Mow. It was owner Jake's 4th anniversary of owning the place, and bearing in mind I have spent the vast majority of my weekends in the place, I felt it was right and proper to drop by and have a few drinks and a toast to a great venue. I was quite tired, worn out by the extremes of the day and indeed the weekend, so I wasn't going to stay long... He said...
When I got there, I was a little quiet. A few people asked me if I was alright, enquiring into the events of the weekend which I didn't like very much at all. I hate people making a fuss over me, much preferring to bury events deep in the sand and ignore them until they've gone away. In my mind, the events of the weekend had been dealt with. I know people were only being polite, but I would have much rathered people just got on with the here and now. Jake and his staff were already a few drinks down, celebrating a brilliant milestone and the karaoke was in full swing. I had my customary Jack Daniels, but also discovered a new drink. Bacardi Oakheart. It was wonderful. My brief repertoire of desired drinks has now increased! However, I was still planning to go home pretty early, despite starting to buy a few more drinks and loosen up a bit. It was a Monday night after all. There can't be many parties going on on a Monday night.
"Tom, coming to London tonight?"
Jake had appeared from the group of people he was entertaining, with a smile and an enquiry. At first I thought he was joking and brushed his question aside, walking outside to meet Abigail. Upon walking into the small outside enclosure, she asked me if I had been asked about London. I said yes, but I'm sure he wasn't being serious.
"Oh, he's serious." said another punter who I get along pretty well with. "Nights out with Jake are notorious for being extremely messy. I once asked him for water because I was dying and he gave me straight vodka."
Well... I didn't have work on Tuesday until 1pm. It could be possible. Abigail didn't. She had work at 9am. I wasn't going to go if she wasn't but she seemed tempted aswell. It was at this point I had a brainwave. I'd had a fairly crap few days. Friday's fracas, Saturday's shock, Sunday's solemnity followed by Monday's madness meant I could have done with letting my hair down a little bit...
"I'm in!"
It was 1am by the time we left. I had gone home to change out of my work clothes into something a bit more jazzy, and by the time we clambered into the taxi, (Yes... I know...), I was incredibly excited. We were on our way. Our destination was Charing Cross, and 'Heaven'. Considered to be one of the world's largest gay clubs, Heaven is downright madness. I was extremely unsure of what to expect from it on a Monday night, but forgot that this wasn't Bedford. This was London. LDN. One of the most vibrant cities in the world.
We were all near sober by the time we got there, at about 2:15am. I was still trying to get my head around what we were actually doing, as we joined the back of the queue to get in. Jake's face dropped.
"If this is the back of the queue, we've got at least an hour wait."
Oh dear. Surely they'd stop letting people in soon? Was all this spontaneity and excitement going to be worthless? I was pretty cold, as the alcohol had worn off slightly and I was only wearing a purple t-shirt. We waited, and waited. We even contemplated going elsewhere, as there was a man advertising a party in Vauxhall that was going on until midday. How anyone can even think about partying on Monday night until Tuesday lunchtime is mad! We even tried to eavesdrop on conversations, attempting to find out about any other events, before realising the variety of languages stood in that queue was vast. This venue was international. People travel miles for a night out in Heaven. The sign in the queue outlined that the venue was reserved for VIP's and special guests on Saturday nights. That's how big this venue is. And I hoped beyond all hope that I would be able to experience it.
Despite a few fleeting thoughts otherwise, it was soon obvious that we would be fine. Unlike other venues in the country, Heaven has no last entry time. It was 3:30am when we walked in. By the time we got through the main entrance, we walked the walk through to the main dancefloor. And I have just one word...
Wow.
It was massive. And when I say massive, I mean it must have held a couple of thousand of people. Full to the brim with people dancing, strobe lights, jumping music. I was then told this was the first of multiple rooms. We went sideways first though, into a smaller but equally vibrant room and had a few drinks, danced to some cheesy music and started out on the delayed yet wonderfully camp night. Soon though, we were ushered into the main room and this is when the party truly started. Standing on the upper deck of the room, looking down, it was a sight and a half. I even took a picture for memories sake. After a few more drinks, I was leading the way to the middle of said dance floor. I wasn't missing out on this. A couple of the others didn't like the music, but house music, especially when I'm drunk, is one of my guilty pleasures. We wanted to get right into the mix, so walked past party-goers who were dressed in a vast array of outfits. I say "dressed", there were indeed some who were barely dressed at all. It was a case of anything goes, and it dawned on me that this was a Monday night. London, you rock.
For a couple of hours, it was... I can only describe it as a camp rave. The DJ, hoisted high on the stage behind mountainous decks, was mixing a weird yet wonderful cocktail of music and it was just brilliant. I have no other superlatives for this place. The fact that I didn't feel at all guilty for deserting my sensible side, (Some of you may say differently, but compared to a few of the people I was with, I am genuinely innocent!), made it all the more better. Monday night, (and Tuesday morning, after we got in at 7:30am!) after a bad weekend, goes down as one of the most memorable nights of my life, for sure.
I was tired on Tuesday, but I still had a smile plastered across my face for the entirety of my short afternoon stint. I do hope to go back one day, maybe a bit earlier so we don't get caught out in the monstrous queues, but certainly one day. I'm heading to Vauxhall in a month or so, (no, not for the midday party!) so another camp London experience is on the horizon.
Monday night sure was heaven.
It's been a whirlwind few days. Walking home from work on Friday, Valentine's Day, I had a smile on my face as the anticipation of another weekend socialising, spending time with friends old and new and dancing away was on the cards. I was hugely looking forward to it. The weather was absolutely atrocious, and despite that putting a lot of people off, it wasn't going to dampen our spirits, (excuse the alcohol-related pun). We spent the majority of the time in our flat, away from the hurricane force winds and driving rain, drinking, laughing, having fun, dancing around. It was just marvellous. Sure, there were only a few of us, but a weekend having fun always brings an unimaginable smile to my face. It was gone midnight by the time we went out, all fantastically merry if a little damp as we ran from the taxi into our usual weekend haunt. It was at this point where events get a bit blurry, and no... It wasn't the alcohol doing that...
I won't elaborate as to exactly what went on, but in short I was headbutted and ended the night with a bust nose, a fat lip and a face that looked like it had gone through 12 rounds with a particularly irate Tyson Fury. It was gone 6am by the time police left my flat and left me, stunned and broken in my own bedroom. I didn't sleep well that morning, only getting a few hours sleep before giving up entirely and heading into town, feeling particularly self-conscious. It wasn't entirely how I'd imagined my Friday night to pan out, but an experience none the less.
I didn't go out on Saturday night. For the first time in a long, long time I was more than happy to stay in with a blanket and the remote. It was a great choice as my favourite film, 'Inglorious Basterds' was on Channel 4 and I could stay away from what was going to be an enquiring crowd out in town. Waking up on Sunday hangoverless felt good as well.
Sunday was particularly uneventful, unless you count a disappointing indoor cricket performance, and then we were at the beginning of another week. I was actually fairly glad to see Monday morning. The anticipation on Friday was obviously replaced by one of firstly pain and then an insipid mood. Monday was going fairly averagely, until the system decided to crash 15 minutes before the close of play. Without going into boring banking details, it took me 2 and a half hours to get out of the place, by which time I was starving, running late to a cricket event I was supposed to be attending, and wondering when the bad luck was going to end. How many mirrors had I broken? What had I done to deserve these past few days? When was it going to finish?
At the end of the cricket roadshow event, at roughly 9pm, I decided to drop by The Mow. It was owner Jake's 4th anniversary of owning the place, and bearing in mind I have spent the vast majority of my weekends in the place, I felt it was right and proper to drop by and have a few drinks and a toast to a great venue. I was quite tired, worn out by the extremes of the day and indeed the weekend, so I wasn't going to stay long... He said...
When I got there, I was a little quiet. A few people asked me if I was alright, enquiring into the events of the weekend which I didn't like very much at all. I hate people making a fuss over me, much preferring to bury events deep in the sand and ignore them until they've gone away. In my mind, the events of the weekend had been dealt with. I know people were only being polite, but I would have much rathered people just got on with the here and now. Jake and his staff were already a few drinks down, celebrating a brilliant milestone and the karaoke was in full swing. I had my customary Jack Daniels, but also discovered a new drink. Bacardi Oakheart. It was wonderful. My brief repertoire of desired drinks has now increased! However, I was still planning to go home pretty early, despite starting to buy a few more drinks and loosen up a bit. It was a Monday night after all. There can't be many parties going on on a Monday night.
"Tom, coming to London tonight?"
Jake had appeared from the group of people he was entertaining, with a smile and an enquiry. At first I thought he was joking and brushed his question aside, walking outside to meet Abigail. Upon walking into the small outside enclosure, she asked me if I had been asked about London. I said yes, but I'm sure he wasn't being serious.
"Oh, he's serious." said another punter who I get along pretty well with. "Nights out with Jake are notorious for being extremely messy. I once asked him for water because I was dying and he gave me straight vodka."
Well... I didn't have work on Tuesday until 1pm. It could be possible. Abigail didn't. She had work at 9am. I wasn't going to go if she wasn't but she seemed tempted aswell. It was at this point I had a brainwave. I'd had a fairly crap few days. Friday's fracas, Saturday's shock, Sunday's solemnity followed by Monday's madness meant I could have done with letting my hair down a little bit...
"I'm in!"
It was 1am by the time we left. I had gone home to change out of my work clothes into something a bit more jazzy, and by the time we clambered into the taxi, (Yes... I know...), I was incredibly excited. We were on our way. Our destination was Charing Cross, and 'Heaven'. Considered to be one of the world's largest gay clubs, Heaven is downright madness. I was extremely unsure of what to expect from it on a Monday night, but forgot that this wasn't Bedford. This was London. LDN. One of the most vibrant cities in the world.
We were all near sober by the time we got there, at about 2:15am. I was still trying to get my head around what we were actually doing, as we joined the back of the queue to get in. Jake's face dropped.
"If this is the back of the queue, we've got at least an hour wait."
Oh dear. Surely they'd stop letting people in soon? Was all this spontaneity and excitement going to be worthless? I was pretty cold, as the alcohol had worn off slightly and I was only wearing a purple t-shirt. We waited, and waited. We even contemplated going elsewhere, as there was a man advertising a party in Vauxhall that was going on until midday. How anyone can even think about partying on Monday night until Tuesday lunchtime is mad! We even tried to eavesdrop on conversations, attempting to find out about any other events, before realising the variety of languages stood in that queue was vast. This venue was international. People travel miles for a night out in Heaven. The sign in the queue outlined that the venue was reserved for VIP's and special guests on Saturday nights. That's how big this venue is. And I hoped beyond all hope that I would be able to experience it.
Despite a few fleeting thoughts otherwise, it was soon obvious that we would be fine. Unlike other venues in the country, Heaven has no last entry time. It was 3:30am when we walked in. By the time we got through the main entrance, we walked the walk through to the main dancefloor. And I have just one word...
Wow.
It was massive. And when I say massive, I mean it must have held a couple of thousand of people. Full to the brim with people dancing, strobe lights, jumping music. I was then told this was the first of multiple rooms. We went sideways first though, into a smaller but equally vibrant room and had a few drinks, danced to some cheesy music and started out on the delayed yet wonderfully camp night. Soon though, we were ushered into the main room and this is when the party truly started. Standing on the upper deck of the room, looking down, it was a sight and a half. I even took a picture for memories sake. After a few more drinks, I was leading the way to the middle of said dance floor. I wasn't missing out on this. A couple of the others didn't like the music, but house music, especially when I'm drunk, is one of my guilty pleasures. We wanted to get right into the mix, so walked past party-goers who were dressed in a vast array of outfits. I say "dressed", there were indeed some who were barely dressed at all. It was a case of anything goes, and it dawned on me that this was a Monday night. London, you rock.
For a couple of hours, it was... I can only describe it as a camp rave. The DJ, hoisted high on the stage behind mountainous decks, was mixing a weird yet wonderful cocktail of music and it was just brilliant. I have no other superlatives for this place. The fact that I didn't feel at all guilty for deserting my sensible side, (Some of you may say differently, but compared to a few of the people I was with, I am genuinely innocent!), made it all the more better. Monday night, (and Tuesday morning, after we got in at 7:30am!) after a bad weekend, goes down as one of the most memorable nights of my life, for sure.
I was tired on Tuesday, but I still had a smile plastered across my face for the entirety of my short afternoon stint. I do hope to go back one day, maybe a bit earlier so we don't get caught out in the monstrous queues, but certainly one day. I'm heading to Vauxhall in a month or so, (no, not for the midday party!) so another camp London experience is on the horizon.
Monday night sure was heaven.
Wednesday 12 February 2014
Chasing Shadows
It's been a rather difficult week. I'm becoming increasingly and alarmingly disillusioned with the monotony that life brings. Get up for work, walk to work, sit in an office chair, walk home, watch TV. Monday to Friday. The weekends are still enjoyable enough, but I find myself wandering into the thoughts that even these are becoming repetitive. Nights out are spent in good company yes, but as the night goes on, I drift into negativity. Fuelled by alcohol, my thoughts turn towards life itself, and its so draining. I've spent a lot of this week asleep, with no energy to function or do the simplest of tasks. Its the same old story, but somehow this feels different from past stages. This feels like my own doing, and a result of not doing the right things. I am eating unhealthily, doing less and less exercise, drinking more. All these things I can change, yet I sit here and don't. Why?
I'm trying to change some things. I'm looking for a new job, and trying everything in my power to change that aspect. But with the climate as it is, and with no clue whatsoever, (still), of what I want from life, its so very difficult to make any firm commitment. I'm so envious of people who know exactly what they want from life. I know that if I had an end goal, a final destination, it would be so much easier. But I don't. I never have.
I've completely run out of ideas.
I'm trying to change some things. I'm looking for a new job, and trying everything in my power to change that aspect. But with the climate as it is, and with no clue whatsoever, (still), of what I want from life, its so very difficult to make any firm commitment. I'm so envious of people who know exactly what they want from life. I know that if I had an end goal, a final destination, it would be so much easier. But I don't. I never have.
I've completely run out of ideas.
Tuesday 4 February 2014
The World of the Internet Craze
In modern life, the internet is paramount to life itself. Offices struggle to run without the use of e-mail. Students worldwide have Google to thank for helping them in their academic successes. Procrastination is now many people's number one pastime. I think we're all in agreement that the invention of the internet was one of the world's greatest. It's been a positive. Thanks Tim Berners-Lee.
But in recent years, the world of the internet has reached unchartered territory. Cyber bullying and keyboard warriors spouting hatred from behind their screens. Online con artists, scamming people on eBay via PayPal. All of the frankly horrendous things that people do, that I can't even bring myself to type them out. And then there's the internet craze. At first, they seem innocent. A bit of fun, and a laugh for the people who participate, and at the beginning, it just seems like a game. Fair enough. But the problem with internet crazes, is in the name. By the time people start to know about them, they're crazes. They're crazy.
It started with 'Planking'. The humourous game where people would take pictures of themselves lying down in peculiar places. It began with people lying down on the Hollywood Hall of Fame stars, or in Central Park with Joey from 'Friends' in the background. People would occasionally push themselves to lie face down on a table in the middle of a packed pub. All honest, if slightly outlandish fun. Designed to embarrass the participants who are usually the kind of people who can laugh at themselves for the sake of humour.
And then it went crazy. It was picked up by the internet, and this is when it got dangerous. People would search for facebook likes, and twitter retweets by pushing the limits on a game that was designed by teenagers who were probably just bored on a Thursday evening. Attention seekers started posting pictures of themselves lying face down in deep water. Others would post pictures of themselves lying face down in the middle of a busy road. Five minutes later, another picture would appear of a "daredevil" lying on top of a mansion's chimney. All for the sake of an internet craze. It only relented and ceased to be, when an Australian man plunged to his death off a 7th floor balcony.
Why did it even get that far?
Then there was 'Tombstoning'. Arguably more dangerous than 'Planking', 'tombstoning', is the act of jumping off a cliff edge into water surrounded by rocks. Again, the name was probably invented by a group of holidaymakers looking for something to do during the day. Again, the act did the rounds on the internet, with people exclaiming that it looked "cool" and "dangerous", before deciding to try it themselves. Broken limbs, and serious injury did nothing to perturb people from trying it out for themselves.
That was until a 22-year old man lost his life after jumping off 'Devil's Bridge' into the River Lune. He jumped off a bridge for a laugh and never resurfaced...
So imagine the horror when I was listening to the radio earlier to hear about another internet craze. 'Nek Nomination', probably a game invented by University Freshers, is a game where people are challenged to down a drink and then nominate someone else to do the same. In a matter of days, the craze has gone worldwide, but once again, people have set out to prove that they are more "daring" and "dangerous" than others. Videos are surfacing of people downing whole PINTS of spirits, and whole BOTTLES of a mixture of alcoholic drinks, which do nothing but kill them. I cannot imagine why people would even want to attempt that. It's not funny. It's not cool.
Again, it started off innocently enough. People downing pints of tomato ketchup and passing it on. Downing a pint of tomato ketchup isn't nice, but its highly unlikely to kill you. What has annoyed me is that people do not learn lessons about how internet crazes work. They develop beyond what the human body can feasibly handle, all in the name of outdoing your peers. They only show signs of stopping when tragedy strikes and people realise what damage it can cause, and this is undeniably wrong. It has to stop.
Imagine if you were a family member or a friend of someone who had died participating in one of these crazes. Imagine how much of a stupid loss of life it would be simply for a retweet or a Facebook like. People always think that these kind of things happen to someone else.
Why not just drink normally? To the people of the Internet: Control yourself, and make sure for certain that that someone else, doesn't become you.
But in recent years, the world of the internet has reached unchartered territory. Cyber bullying and keyboard warriors spouting hatred from behind their screens. Online con artists, scamming people on eBay via PayPal. All of the frankly horrendous things that people do, that I can't even bring myself to type them out. And then there's the internet craze. At first, they seem innocent. A bit of fun, and a laugh for the people who participate, and at the beginning, it just seems like a game. Fair enough. But the problem with internet crazes, is in the name. By the time people start to know about them, they're crazes. They're crazy.
It started with 'Planking'. The humourous game where people would take pictures of themselves lying down in peculiar places. It began with people lying down on the Hollywood Hall of Fame stars, or in Central Park with Joey from 'Friends' in the background. People would occasionally push themselves to lie face down on a table in the middle of a packed pub. All honest, if slightly outlandish fun. Designed to embarrass the participants who are usually the kind of people who can laugh at themselves for the sake of humour.
And then it went crazy. It was picked up by the internet, and this is when it got dangerous. People would search for facebook likes, and twitter retweets by pushing the limits on a game that was designed by teenagers who were probably just bored on a Thursday evening. Attention seekers started posting pictures of themselves lying face down in deep water. Others would post pictures of themselves lying face down in the middle of a busy road. Five minutes later, another picture would appear of a "daredevil" lying on top of a mansion's chimney. All for the sake of an internet craze. It only relented and ceased to be, when an Australian man plunged to his death off a 7th floor balcony.
Why did it even get that far?
Then there was 'Tombstoning'. Arguably more dangerous than 'Planking', 'tombstoning', is the act of jumping off a cliff edge into water surrounded by rocks. Again, the name was probably invented by a group of holidaymakers looking for something to do during the day. Again, the act did the rounds on the internet, with people exclaiming that it looked "cool" and "dangerous", before deciding to try it themselves. Broken limbs, and serious injury did nothing to perturb people from trying it out for themselves.
That was until a 22-year old man lost his life after jumping off 'Devil's Bridge' into the River Lune. He jumped off a bridge for a laugh and never resurfaced...
So imagine the horror when I was listening to the radio earlier to hear about another internet craze. 'Nek Nomination', probably a game invented by University Freshers, is a game where people are challenged to down a drink and then nominate someone else to do the same. In a matter of days, the craze has gone worldwide, but once again, people have set out to prove that they are more "daring" and "dangerous" than others. Videos are surfacing of people downing whole PINTS of spirits, and whole BOTTLES of a mixture of alcoholic drinks, which do nothing but kill them. I cannot imagine why people would even want to attempt that. It's not funny. It's not cool.
Again, it started off innocently enough. People downing pints of tomato ketchup and passing it on. Downing a pint of tomato ketchup isn't nice, but its highly unlikely to kill you. What has annoyed me is that people do not learn lessons about how internet crazes work. They develop beyond what the human body can feasibly handle, all in the name of outdoing your peers. They only show signs of stopping when tragedy strikes and people realise what damage it can cause, and this is undeniably wrong. It has to stop.
Imagine if you were a family member or a friend of someone who had died participating in one of these crazes. Imagine how much of a stupid loss of life it would be simply for a retweet or a Facebook like. People always think that these kind of things happen to someone else.
Why not just drink normally? To the people of the Internet: Control yourself, and make sure for certain that that someone else, doesn't become you.
Sunday 2 February 2014
The End of Dryathlon
Welcome back to weekend normality.
Midnight struck on Friday night and I was back in the game. Special glass in hand, filled with Jack Daniels and coke, and we're away. With the liver of an 18-year old, it was back to lightweightedness, (I've just made that word up - and I like it!) and a relatively cheap night whilst we danced away. It was pretty damn awesome.
Last night wasn't so awesome. I'd fully expected to overdo it on the drinking front but I showed some admirable restraint in the faces of alcoholic adversity, and managed to stay the right side of dangerously intoxicated. The stories lay elsewhere, (of which I'm not going to go into), and it left me feeling angry, sad and brought back some not very nice memories. The problem with being outspoken is that you land yourself in humungous piles of shit every now and then, and I've found myself in the strange situation of potentially ruining one friendship in aid of another. It was quite literally a case of one or the other. Weird. Don't ask.
I woke up this morning then, at the wailing of the alarm clock, after 4 hours of dodgy sleep for indoor cricket. Another strange occurrence is that I have the innate ability to play much better when I just don't care what happens. We were set a target of 154 in 12 overs, (in indoor cricket, that's a pretty good score), and I ended up retiring about 5 overs into the chase on 40. Unfortunately, the rules stipulate you can only score 40, and then you retire, coming back at the end if needs be. In all honesty, I just wanted to go home and go back to bed, so I started out in trying to chase the target as quickly as possible, trying to smack every ball to the back wall without bouncing and a maximum six runs. One of them, if outdoors, would have gone absolutely miles. We won. And we're top of the table. The Bedford boys showing you how its done.
But my mind just can't stop thinking about what was another Saturday night full of stories for the wrong reasons. I had looked forward to this Saturday night for so long, and I was drunk yet perfectly fine until events started unravelling. Its just not nice. I'd much rather dance 'til the bitter end, and the 3am music like B'Witched, Spice Girls and Cyndi Lauper. Instead, I found myself speaking my mind in an all too forceful way, and although I felt exactly the same when I woke up, (confirming it wasn't just a drunken barrage of thought processes), I can't help but wonder if I should have gone about it differently...
Ultimately, girls just wanna have fun...
Midnight struck on Friday night and I was back in the game. Special glass in hand, filled with Jack Daniels and coke, and we're away. With the liver of an 18-year old, it was back to lightweightedness, (I've just made that word up - and I like it!) and a relatively cheap night whilst we danced away. It was pretty damn awesome.
Last night wasn't so awesome. I'd fully expected to overdo it on the drinking front but I showed some admirable restraint in the faces of alcoholic adversity, and managed to stay the right side of dangerously intoxicated. The stories lay elsewhere, (of which I'm not going to go into), and it left me feeling angry, sad and brought back some not very nice memories. The problem with being outspoken is that you land yourself in humungous piles of shit every now and then, and I've found myself in the strange situation of potentially ruining one friendship in aid of another. It was quite literally a case of one or the other. Weird. Don't ask.
I woke up this morning then, at the wailing of the alarm clock, after 4 hours of dodgy sleep for indoor cricket. Another strange occurrence is that I have the innate ability to play much better when I just don't care what happens. We were set a target of 154 in 12 overs, (in indoor cricket, that's a pretty good score), and I ended up retiring about 5 overs into the chase on 40. Unfortunately, the rules stipulate you can only score 40, and then you retire, coming back at the end if needs be. In all honesty, I just wanted to go home and go back to bed, so I started out in trying to chase the target as quickly as possible, trying to smack every ball to the back wall without bouncing and a maximum six runs. One of them, if outdoors, would have gone absolutely miles. We won. And we're top of the table. The Bedford boys showing you how its done.
But my mind just can't stop thinking about what was another Saturday night full of stories for the wrong reasons. I had looked forward to this Saturday night for so long, and I was drunk yet perfectly fine until events started unravelling. Its just not nice. I'd much rather dance 'til the bitter end, and the 3am music like B'Witched, Spice Girls and Cyndi Lauper. Instead, I found myself speaking my mind in an all too forceful way, and although I felt exactly the same when I woke up, (confirming it wasn't just a drunken barrage of thought processes), I can't help but wonder if I should have gone about it differently...
Ultimately, girls just wanna have fun...
Sunday 26 January 2014
A Saturday Night in Bedford Town
Its Summer 2012. Slap bang in the middle of the European Championships and its England vs Italy in the quarter-finals. I'm sat at home with a few mates and boxes of pizza watching on the TV as, apart from the first ten minutes, Italy walk all over England in a game that somehow finished 0-0. It went to penalties, and inevitably, we lost.
I can only imagine if England footballers knew how to take penalty kicks under pressure, I would have started this post in a much different fashion. But because they can't, the scenes that unfolded became one of Bedford's most embarrassing nights. You see, Bedford has the highest population of Italians per capita in the United Kingdom, and when they come face to face in a sporting competition, the rivalry has that extra edge to it. Rivalry is all well and good of course, but not when it spills over. England's defeat led to trouble on a scale I had never seen, and I was pretty glad I wasn't out in town as a riot broke out. Cars were smashed up, people were injured and it was carnage. It was the main story on BBC News for a couple of days, and all in all, it just wasn't very nice.
Just for your information, England face Italy again this year, in the upcoming World Cup, and its scheduled to take place at 11pm on a Saturday night. Best of luck to Bedfordshire Police.
Saturday nights are always a bit over the top here. Usually, as if it needs saying, I'm a wee bit merry and don't notice it as much, but for the past month, I haven't been. Last night, for what will be the final time on a night out for the foreseeable future, I was stone cold sober, and we ended up in Yates. I haven't been there for ages on a Saturday night, and after ten minutes I was reminded why. You could see the eyes pop out of guy's heads as they stared at girls dressed in nothing walk past them, despite it being below freezing outside. Obviously, said girls would complain about it. But I won't go there. There was pushing and shoving at the bar, arguments breaking out, and people acting like general idiots, while I, wondering what I was doing, shuffled around awkwardly in a circle dancing to music I had never heard before. I've been doing this for the past month of course, but there was tension in the air. Last night in Bedford town, there was an (alleged) murder, three fights, (that amounted to a number of serious injuries), and the bar next door to Yates was tear-gassed.
Yes, you did read that right. Tear gas.
I was home before 1am. Which is a first for me, but for the first time ever, I felt properly uneasy out and about. I could feel it in the air.
As for the Dryathlon, I have raised £240-99 of my £250 target so far, (I was docked 1p of a donation for refusing to go out on Friday night!), and it ends at midnight this Friday night/Saturday morning. Frankly, I can't wait. Although... I am a tad apprehensive at what awaits... I have been promised many presents...
Have a good week.
I can only imagine if England footballers knew how to take penalty kicks under pressure, I would have started this post in a much different fashion. But because they can't, the scenes that unfolded became one of Bedford's most embarrassing nights. You see, Bedford has the highest population of Italians per capita in the United Kingdom, and when they come face to face in a sporting competition, the rivalry has that extra edge to it. Rivalry is all well and good of course, but not when it spills over. England's defeat led to trouble on a scale I had never seen, and I was pretty glad I wasn't out in town as a riot broke out. Cars were smashed up, people were injured and it was carnage. It was the main story on BBC News for a couple of days, and all in all, it just wasn't very nice.
Just for your information, England face Italy again this year, in the upcoming World Cup, and its scheduled to take place at 11pm on a Saturday night. Best of luck to Bedfordshire Police.
Saturday nights are always a bit over the top here. Usually, as if it needs saying, I'm a wee bit merry and don't notice it as much, but for the past month, I haven't been. Last night, for what will be the final time on a night out for the foreseeable future, I was stone cold sober, and we ended up in Yates. I haven't been there for ages on a Saturday night, and after ten minutes I was reminded why. You could see the eyes pop out of guy's heads as they stared at girls dressed in nothing walk past them, despite it being below freezing outside. Obviously, said girls would complain about it. But I won't go there. There was pushing and shoving at the bar, arguments breaking out, and people acting like general idiots, while I, wondering what I was doing, shuffled around awkwardly in a circle dancing to music I had never heard before. I've been doing this for the past month of course, but there was tension in the air. Last night in Bedford town, there was an (alleged) murder, three fights, (that amounted to a number of serious injuries), and the bar next door to Yates was tear-gassed.
Yes, you did read that right. Tear gas.
I was home before 1am. Which is a first for me, but for the first time ever, I felt properly uneasy out and about. I could feel it in the air.
As for the Dryathlon, I have raised £240-99 of my £250 target so far, (I was docked 1p of a donation for refusing to go out on Friday night!), and it ends at midnight this Friday night/Saturday morning. Frankly, I can't wait. Although... I am a tad apprehensive at what awaits... I have been promised many presents...
Have a good week.
Saturday 18 January 2014
The Sobriety Wall
"You know me, I love a bit of charity. Sponsoring you to NOT get rat arsed for a month though? Here's an idea, don't drink for a month and donate all the money you save to charity. Or, use that money to buy some trainers and RUN THE BLAAAAAADY MARATHON."
Radio 1 DJ Greg James there. I'm a big fan of his and I listen to his drive time show pretty much every day as I long for 5:30pm in what is becoming the most mediocre of jobs. As most people know, I am one of these people. Being sponsored to not drink for a month. There is both a positive and a negative to it.
The positives are obvious. "Feeling healthier", a brighter bank balance and the day after hangover-free, and there you have it. The trio of reasons why people don't drink in the first place. But as we enter the 18th day of the 1st month of the year, the negatives are coming to the fore. And I'm afraid there are a few.
1) It's just boring. I've always gone out on a weekend. More recently, on both Friday and Saturday nights, as the alternative is staying in, and that's just crap. Socialising is much better than a night in with your remote. Socialising is much better with a bit of alcohol flowing around the system. This is a fact. Without alcohol, its merely a show of watching people sink into their drinking trousers, and after a few weeks of watching this, it just gets boring. Have I mentioned its boring?
2) I've got to a stage, ironically as I type this post, that I feel like I can't really complain about it. As Mr. James says above, being sponsored NOT to do something? How easy is that? People run marathons, complete triathlons, climb mountains and trek through the Arctic for sponsors. THAT'S tough. Not drinking for a month? "Come off it..." people say. Anyone can do that. But for someone who almost lives for the weekends, it just feels like I've got no inspiration for the working week, or something to look forward to on a Monday morning. And that's also very crap.
3) My friends are carrying on. I just feel a bit ... Left out. Almost like the feeling of being picked last for the playground game of football. Although that was never me... Former Luton Town School of Excellence don't you know .... Okay, now I'm just boasting. Sorry.
4) I can't just cheat. People have donated near enough £200 of their own money in total towards Cancer Research UK. People have just said, "Well I won't tell anyone, go on!", and it has been tempting. It really has. But I don't really want to dupe people out of their money. There have been times where I've been with a whole group of people who don't know I'm doing the Dryathlon. Who would have known if I had had a JD and coke? No one. But then that would defeat the object.
Apparently, if I did cave in, I'd have to donate the total of my sponsors myself. I can't really afford to pay nearly £200 for a JD and Coke... We're not in bloody Soho...
5-ish) February the 1st. Yes, I think this is a negative, and now I shall tell you why. I am looking forward to that day. Yes, its a Saturday, and yes, I will be drinking, but already, people have said, "I'll buy you a drink". Probably about 5 or 6 people have said it. And therein lies the problem. I think February the 2nd isn't going to be very nice. I know its within my control, but I just KNOW that I won't be able to control the excitement of it, and I'll get carried away. What's more, after a whole month of sobriety, I will have the liver of an 18-year old again. It's not going to end well is it?
But most of all, the weekends have just become boring. And with the working week becoming more and more boring by the day, and a week where a job I was asked to apply for just backfired, it hasn't really been one of the best weeks. But hey, look at the positives. Its January, and mentally I'm fine. I've no idea how, or why, but my mind is clear of troubles, and I'm coasting along pretty damn nicely. Every cloud hey...
Onwards!
Radio 1 DJ Greg James there. I'm a big fan of his and I listen to his drive time show pretty much every day as I long for 5:30pm in what is becoming the most mediocre of jobs. As most people know, I am one of these people. Being sponsored to not drink for a month. There is both a positive and a negative to it.
The positives are obvious. "Feeling healthier", a brighter bank balance and the day after hangover-free, and there you have it. The trio of reasons why people don't drink in the first place. But as we enter the 18th day of the 1st month of the year, the negatives are coming to the fore. And I'm afraid there are a few.
1) It's just boring. I've always gone out on a weekend. More recently, on both Friday and Saturday nights, as the alternative is staying in, and that's just crap. Socialising is much better than a night in with your remote. Socialising is much better with a bit of alcohol flowing around the system. This is a fact. Without alcohol, its merely a show of watching people sink into their drinking trousers, and after a few weeks of watching this, it just gets boring. Have I mentioned its boring?
2) I've got to a stage, ironically as I type this post, that I feel like I can't really complain about it. As Mr. James says above, being sponsored NOT to do something? How easy is that? People run marathons, complete triathlons, climb mountains and trek through the Arctic for sponsors. THAT'S tough. Not drinking for a month? "Come off it..." people say. Anyone can do that. But for someone who almost lives for the weekends, it just feels like I've got no inspiration for the working week, or something to look forward to on a Monday morning. And that's also very crap.
3) My friends are carrying on. I just feel a bit ... Left out. Almost like the feeling of being picked last for the playground game of football. Although that was never me... Former Luton Town School of Excellence don't you know .... Okay, now I'm just boasting. Sorry.
4) I can't just cheat. People have donated near enough £200 of their own money in total towards Cancer Research UK. People have just said, "Well I won't tell anyone, go on!", and it has been tempting. It really has. But I don't really want to dupe people out of their money. There have been times where I've been with a whole group of people who don't know I'm doing the Dryathlon. Who would have known if I had had a JD and coke? No one. But then that would defeat the object.
Apparently, if I did cave in, I'd have to donate the total of my sponsors myself. I can't really afford to pay nearly £200 for a JD and Coke... We're not in bloody Soho...
5-ish) February the 1st. Yes, I think this is a negative, and now I shall tell you why. I am looking forward to that day. Yes, its a Saturday, and yes, I will be drinking, but already, people have said, "I'll buy you a drink". Probably about 5 or 6 people have said it. And therein lies the problem. I think February the 2nd isn't going to be very nice. I know its within my control, but I just KNOW that I won't be able to control the excitement of it, and I'll get carried away. What's more, after a whole month of sobriety, I will have the liver of an 18-year old again. It's not going to end well is it?
But most of all, the weekends have just become boring. And with the working week becoming more and more boring by the day, and a week where a job I was asked to apply for just backfired, it hasn't really been one of the best weeks. But hey, look at the positives. Its January, and mentally I'm fine. I've no idea how, or why, but my mind is clear of troubles, and I'm coasting along pretty damn nicely. Every cloud hey...
Onwards!
Monday 13 January 2014
The January Dryathlon
12 whole days without Jack Daniels so far. Its a repeat performance from last year for my liver, as I take on the dry January again, but this time, its for charity.
I've still got 19 days to go, but the good news is, its Sunday evening. I have survived a second weekend without touching any sort of alcohol, and I'm pretty pleased about that. There have been temptations. There have been times when I just wanted to have a drink and relax those shoulders a bit. There's even been drinks forced on me. The barman offered a few free drinks in my direction to try and tempt me, but I refused!
I am doing this for a reason though. Sure, my liver and my bank balance will get a well-deserved rest, but more importantly, I am raising money for Cancer Research UK. A couple of my friends are feeling the roughness of the battle with cancer at the moment, and I want to show them I can be there for them.
I would really appreciate a sponsor. Even if its just the cost of a pint of your best or a glass of vino, every penny really does help. I am over halfway to my target now, and it will get more difficult to resist!
Even in sobriety, I can't help but sound like an alcoholic can I....
Merely click on the button below to take you to the page! It takes two minutes! Thank you :)
I've still got 19 days to go, but the good news is, its Sunday evening. I have survived a second weekend without touching any sort of alcohol, and I'm pretty pleased about that. There have been temptations. There have been times when I just wanted to have a drink and relax those shoulders a bit. There's even been drinks forced on me. The barman offered a few free drinks in my direction to try and tempt me, but I refused!
I am doing this for a reason though. Sure, my liver and my bank balance will get a well-deserved rest, but more importantly, I am raising money for Cancer Research UK. A couple of my friends are feeling the roughness of the battle with cancer at the moment, and I want to show them I can be there for them.
I would really appreciate a sponsor. Even if its just the cost of a pint of your best or a glass of vino, every penny really does help. I am over halfway to my target now, and it will get more difficult to resist!
Even in sobriety, I can't help but sound like an alcoholic can I....
Merely click on the button below to take you to the page! It takes two minutes! Thank you :)
Sunday 5 January 2014
The Ashes
Three months later, from England dominance,
Came another series, with more prominence.
Five test matches, in the searing heat.
Who would beat who, and who would defeat...?
England were favourites, with recent domination
Botham predicted "whitewash!", complete cremation.
But the Aussies were never going to lie down,
In the face of adversity, they rarely drown.
It started in Brisbane, at the Gabbatoir.
The coloured seats can be seen from afar.
Broad got 6 in the very first innings,
Punters grew confident of their English winnings...
The pitch was good, and runs should be scored
Even if it meant the fans would get bored.
But Mitchell Johnson had a different plan,
And it left England so overran...
The Three Lions said goodbye to Trott,
A huge loss for England and the number 3 spot.
And so on to Adelaide, and test number two,
Could the Aussies get turning that screw?
It started off well for the English boys,
There were a lot of wickets, and lots of joys,
But Haddin bounced back, with a huge assault
And once again, England were at fault.
A thrashing ensued, and questions were posed
Of Captain Cook, with his team exposed.
England had to win at Perth,
If the series was to keep its worth...
The third test arrived, on an absolute belter
Clarke won the toss and let England swelter.
The Aussies were winning, oh yet again...
The series gone, the pain over, amen.
But yet we continue, on to Boxing Day
With the England team in complete disarray.
But for once, we led after innings one,
Only to be pegged back, by a Chris Rogers ton.
4-0 up with one test to play,
Could England put in a decent display?
The pink test in Sydney, an awesome event
Could England avoid complete torment?
Wholesale changes, with the future in mind,
Even if Root was strangely sidelined.
The SCG, all lit up in pink,
With England completely on the brink...
Same old story for the English lads,
Cook forgot his bat and used his pads.
Bell and KP forgot to survive,
And left England on sod-all for five...
The Aussies were laughing, hell bent on torture
Their series really has been a scorcher.
But another defeat for Cook and his team,
May be the end of his defensive regime...
An embarrassing defeat of five to zero,
Mitchell was madness, Haddin the hero.
The English batsman should really all quit,
Because this whole series has been completely ****!
Came another series, with more prominence.
Five test matches, in the searing heat.
Who would beat who, and who would defeat...?
England were favourites, with recent domination
Botham predicted "whitewash!", complete cremation.
But the Aussies were never going to lie down,
In the face of adversity, they rarely drown.
It started in Brisbane, at the Gabbatoir.
The coloured seats can be seen from afar.
Broad got 6 in the very first innings,
Punters grew confident of their English winnings...
The pitch was good, and runs should be scored
Even if it meant the fans would get bored.
But Mitchell Johnson had a different plan,
And it left England so overran...
The Three Lions said goodbye to Trott,
A huge loss for England and the number 3 spot.
And so on to Adelaide, and test number two,
Could the Aussies get turning that screw?
It started off well for the English boys,
There were a lot of wickets, and lots of joys,
But Haddin bounced back, with a huge assault
And once again, England were at fault.
A thrashing ensued, and questions were posed
Of Captain Cook, with his team exposed.
England had to win at Perth,
If the series was to keep its worth...
The third test arrived, on an absolute belter
Clarke won the toss and let England swelter.
The Aussies were winning, oh yet again...
The series gone, the pain over, amen.
But yet we continue, on to Boxing Day
With the England team in complete disarray.
But for once, we led after innings one,
Only to be pegged back, by a Chris Rogers ton.
4-0 up with one test to play,
Could England put in a decent display?
The pink test in Sydney, an awesome event
Could England avoid complete torment?
Wholesale changes, with the future in mind,
Even if Root was strangely sidelined.
The SCG, all lit up in pink,
With England completely on the brink...
Same old story for the English lads,
Cook forgot his bat and used his pads.
Bell and KP forgot to survive,
And left England on sod-all for five...
The Aussies were laughing, hell bent on torture
Their series really has been a scorcher.
But another defeat for Cook and his team,
May be the end of his defensive regime...
An embarrassing defeat of five to zero,
Mitchell was madness, Haddin the hero.
The English batsman should really all quit,
Because this whole series has been completely ****!
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