Readers, I’m at a difficult stage in my life. Lots of things have come together to unsettle me somewhat over the last year or so. This is a poem that is closely linked to the questions that have arisen and the feeling of not really knowing what to do.
Firstly, there’s my age. I turned 50 last year, leading to the kind of existential questions you might expect; what have I done with my life, could I have been a lot better at life if I’d tried harder and no, seriously, what have I done with my life? That kind of thing.
Turning 50 also (sort of) focuses your mind on the amount of time you might have left, which wasn’t exactly helped by heart trouble at the back end of last year. Let me tell you, if anything is going to channel your thoughts about mortality, it’s lying in a hospital bed wondering if you might die!
The heart episode also made me look ahead in a more positive way; considering ambitions and achievements and also changes to my lifestyle. In short, it made me focus on retirement and what I need to do to get there a little earlier than I might have been planning.
Horizons
Horizons,
staring back, unflinching,
dead eyed and offering no answers,
intent, impassive
yet begging us to continue with our gaze,
fizzing with promise,
aching with hope,
pulsing with the mystery of what could be
a cliff to drop blindly over,
a plain to explore,
a yellow brick road to dance down
or just a maze to get lost in.
Still, time after time we head in their direction
with no plan in place
and no answers guaranteed,
because this may well be all we have.
I wanted to convey the sense of moving forward and its inevitability, while also stressing that fact that I don’t really know what moving forward looks like at the moment. Hence, conflicting ideas about exploring and getting lost. I don’t think I’m too old to explore or take my life in a different direction, but I’m not sure how to do it. So, while there are decisions to be made and temptations ahead, I really don’t know if they’d make me any happier or comfortable than I am now. So, in essence, my mind is focused on moving forward, but in a way I don’t exactly know how to. I presume we all feel like that now and again though.
I liked the idea of a horizon and the fact that we don’t know what’s just past it. So, we can move forward, but can never quite be sure what’s next. I mean, when I went into hospital I was expecting medication and maybe an overnight stay. I kind of knew I’d get fixed, but I wasn’t ready to be told I needed a pacemaker. Nor was I prepared to feel ill for so long or be away from work for months. But, during all of that time, I moved forward, I guess.
So horizons are exciting in a way, while also holding the potential to be absolutely terrifying. If you think of the horizon at sea, then we know that over the horizon there’s more sea, but not exactly what that might hold for us. It could be a good or a bad thing. I think that’s what I’m trying to say in the poem anyway! As ever, I hope that you liked it.
Every once in a while I write a blog about one of my big interests in life; coaching football. Sometimes it’s because it’s a nice thing to write about and something I’m proud of, sometimes because there’s a problem and other times it’s just in order to vent frustrations that I couldn’t possibly let go on the 13 and 14 year olds that I coach. So thanks for listening, I suppose!
This is the tale of what’s felt like a very long season, hopefully told in a reasonably short and readable amount of words.
In summer of last year, we began our pre-season training with with 10 new players to compliment the 10 that remained from the previous season. At the end of the previous season we’d lost 6 first team players, leaving us severely weakened. To add to that problem, try as we might, we couldn’t arrange any friendly matches where we could test the team out and check on who could be where on the field. So, while we’d trained well, we went into our first league game of the 22/23 season having played one match together as a team. Barring a miracle, we were going to have problems. Teams just don’t gel as quickly as was required.
We made a predictably poor start to the season, losing our first match 9-1 at home. And it got worse. We lost all of our first 5 games, conceding 47 goals and scoring only 5. By this point we were approaching the end of October. Morale was low and we seemed to be making terrible decisions in every game. It felt like we were a team that had little or no experience of football, even though this wasn’t the case. As a coach, it was becoming all consuming and dominating my thoughts. I just couldn’t seem to find an answer to what was going wrong though.
And then came November…
November saw a number of changes. Firstly, because of my health problems, the team had to operate without a coach. So, it was a case of others at the club pitching in and helping out. It also meant that an already dispirited team had to take yet another blow and also have their entire routine completely turned on its head. Kids are resilient and my lads are ridiculously enthusiastic, but even then some just stopped turning up altogether. In fact, several key players wouldn’t be seen at training or games for a another couple of months. Neither would I, but that’s a different story.
As bad as November was though, it represented a turning point in our season. I had a bit of time to think in hospital and decided to tinker with the system that the team played. Even though I didn’t take the match, I spoke to the coach who was taking the team about how I wanted them to play. We got beat again, but this time only 3-2. There was definite progress. So, we kept the system the same in the hope that we could control games a little bit better.
Results improved and defeats were narrow. But they were still defeats.
Terrible winter weather meant a host of postponed games though and this in turn meant that I wasn’t missing games. So, by the time then end of January came round I’d only missed 3 games.
We finally won a game in my second game back as coach. I couldn’t do the setting up of equipment before the game as I wasn’t well enough, but I could give the team instructions and coach in a slightly reserved fashion from the touchline. And by now I had some help too from one of the parents, so that particular burden wasn’t solely on my shoulders.
Some of our parents rallied round too and began coming out earlier on the Sunday mornings when we had home games in order to doing the setting up of goals and other matchday stuff, which was very nice of them.
That first win came against the team that were top of the league at the time and it was such an almighty relief. I can still remember talking to the players and parents at full time, telling the lads how proud I was of them and welling up with the emotion of it all. Not the emotion of the game, but of what I’d been through and the team had been through since the start of the season.
A couple of games later we gained a draw, again while playing a team a long way above us in the league. The new style of playing was paying dividends; even when we got beat we were competing. We were also finally off the bottom of the league. That said, we lost our next three games and our form as still really patchy. There were times we played well, but more times when we played like the team who first stepped onto the field in September.
By this point it was the middle of April. My health had improved and I was able to play a much fuller part as coach. The lads were still enthusiastic, with 17 or 18 regularly turning up for training and always a full squad of 16 for games. The atmosphere in the group had changed and we were all optimistic once more. It was time to change our style of play again and start to attack teams more, rather than crowding the midfield and disrupting the opposition.
Suddenly, we won two games on the bounce and everyone was smiling. We’d moved up another position in the league and the lads were going out expecting to give teams a tough game at least. Parents were enjoying coming to games and the lads were getting what their hard work had deserved. I think some other coaches in our division had looked at those early results and saw us as a push over and our upturn in form prompted some different reactions. Some were really pleased for us, telling the lads how well they’d done, while others were clearly shocked at getting beat by us and would spend the time after matches shouting at their teams.
As a coach, it felt great to have changed people’s opinions. Earlier on in the season I’d had to keep my mouth firmly shut as opposition players and sometimes even coaches openly laughed at us after their teams had beaten us. I heard some awful comments and it really wound me up for the second half of the season when I was able to be back on the touchline. Now, I got to watch on as they were forced to congratulate us on a good game when they hadn’t got the result they wanted, despite winning or better still lost all sense of composure when we’d beaten them. I’d made a mental note of some of them from earlier in the season, so it felt particularly good to take the points away from them.
In our final 6 games of the season, we only conceded 17 goals and scored 14. Compare that to the 47 conceded & 5 scored in the first 5 games. If I say so myself, it was a remarkable turnaround for a team that had been in the bottom position in the division for a lot of the season and lost their coach for a few months in the middle of the season.
All in all it’s been a hell of a season. Tough in so many different ways and it’s felt like there haven’t been many weeks when something didn’t go horribly wrong. But we’re all still here! We’ve not had success in a traditional way, but we’ve certainly been successful in my opinion. I think the lads have learnt a lot about themselves and their resilience, as well as what it takes to be part of a team.
It looks like we’ll keep almost all of the squad together too, so we’ll get to build on all of our positives next season. Hopefully my health will hold out too! Whatever happens, I can look back on the fact that we turned things around and ended up with a little bit of a memorable season to think back on over summer.
As lots of you know, I suffered a bit of a health setback in November of last year when I was admitted to hospital and had to have a pacemaker fitted. It was a shock, but not in terms of feeling unwell. The truth was that I’d been struggling with heart ‘episodes’ since around May last year. I just made a really stupid choice in trying to manage it and hide it from everyone. My distinct lack of medical training allowed me to have faith in the fact that it would probably just go away.
Despite all of this, I’d kept on going out running, striving to build fitness while all along fully aware of the palpitations and dizzy spells I suffering on an every more regular basis. I never felt bad when running though, so I kept going.
On Sunday 15th May last year, I ran the Pontefract 10k in West Yorkshire, finishing in just over 51 minutes. I felt great.
By May 28th I was a complete mess and was forced to reveal a little bit of what was going on to my family when I had my worst episode of the year. The palpitations got so bad that my whole body was shaking. This lasted for around 6 hours and for almost all of this I managed to hide what was happening. I was forced to confess as we were due to go out to a gig and I was worried I may well collapse. Miraculously, I didn’t end up in hospital as, with a bag packed, I suffered a dizzy spell that shook me from the feet up and levelled my heart rate back out. I was exhausted, but fine, so no need for a doctor. It couldn’t and didn’t last though.
In October I collapsed in Manchester Airport as we were heading off for a break. Again, fate intervened as the ambulance was unavailable, so we went on holiday, took things easy and vowed to visit the doctor when home. But my ‘luck’ was about to run out. It was while waiting for an appointment at hospital that I ended up being admitted to a ward anyway, a month later. The rest, as they say, is history.
To cut a long story short, I set myself some goals in hospital. One of them was to get fit and run the Pontefract 10k in May of 2023. Despite several setbacks along the way, I achieved my goal a couple of weekends ago. Here’s how it went.
Having only been able to manage three full weeks of training, I was beyond nervous on the morning of the run. I hadn’t actually ran a full 10k since the previous October and knew that once I got to 5.5 miles (8.85km) I was in unknown territory as far as my heart – and actually more importantly, my legs – were concerned. With a minute to go, standing on the start line, I felt a little bit sick and more tired than I’d hoped for. My previous training run had gone well and I’d felt stronger than I did now. Talk about bad timing! Surely all I had to do was start running and keep going though?
The Pontefract 10k course is affectionately described as ‘undulating’. In truth, it’s tough and hills seem to dominate. So, even though I knew what was coming as I took the first turn out of the park that it starts in, I allowed myself a wry smile as my heart sunk (metaphorically, don’t panic) at the sight of the first long climb. If I’m right, it’s about a kilometre long and really a lot steeper than you’d like as you set off on a 10k race.
Around about 5 or 6 minutes later, as I finally crested said hill, my legs felt wobbly to say the least. However, knowing that there was a stretch of flatter running to come calmed me a bit.
The course feels like it takes you up more than it does down, which as it starts and finished in the same place can’t be true. But as each hill appeared, I began to feel doubts seeping in. I covered the first couple of miles in around 18.5 minutes, so although I was going slower than I’d have liked, I was steady. My goal was to run it in under an hour, but I was more hoping that I’d be close to 55 minutes as this had been what my training had indicated I was capable of.
I ran a focused race. Just telling myself to shorten my stride and keep plodding along for hills or lengthen it for flat sections or downhills bits. When heading downhill I was careful not to get too carried away though as the course has a nasty habit of following a lovely downhill section with a punishing climb. I tried not to look at my watch too often in order to check times and distance, but as the race went on and I got more tired, it proved too much and I was making checks on a far too regular basis, which didn’t help me.
Turning at halfway, I was greeted with the usual big hill, which then takes you left and up another one. During these climbs I started to doubt myself a little bit, but was spurred on somewhat by the fact that some people had began to walk. Despite being encouraged to do so by my family, walking was never an option for me, but although the sight of others doing this lifted my spirits a bit, it did nothing for my legs! I’d also started to feel sick by this point too, but I knew there was a water station a mile or two ahead, so just hoped that I could reach that point incident free.
Underpinning every step I took, both in training and the race itself, was the fact that this was a major goal I’d set while lying in a hospital bed feeling very sorry for myself. In short, I was determined that I’d finish, on my feet, running. And I’d finish in under an hour!
The hills just seemed to keep on coming though and despite the fact that I’ve ran the race twice before, I still couldn’t work out when they’d end. Every time I dragged myself up one, it felt like there was another in the distance and I’d lengthen my stride for the flat section before steeling myself for the energy sapping climb to come!
The water station came and went and I grabbed a bottle, being careful just to sip some in order to avoid being sick. Lots of runners take a swig and discard their bottle pretty quickly, but I decided I’d just keep mine until I saw my family near the end. I’d be able to just keep taking regular sips in order to keep going. Those hills didn’t want to stop though!
Every so often on the route, people had come out of their houses to cheer the runners on and the support was invaluable to me this year. It’s naturally quite encouraging and people say the loveliest things as you run past, although not the most accurate. Whoever called out, “looking good” as I ran past in the last few kilometres clearly needed an eye test! I was also struck by one old man’s generosity of both thought and gesture as we approached the last sections of the race. He’d bought a few crates of bottled water and was using his Sunday morning to help people out. It was a lovely gesture and although I was clinging on to my water station bottle and didn’t need any more, it distracted me for a little while and took my thoughts away from how tired I was.
The race ends on the same stretch that it begins with, meaning the uphill start is reversed. I’ve never been happier to be at the top of a hill! I’d checked my watch and knew that the 6 mile mark (almost 10kms) was approaching, so I lengthened my stride once more and ran faster. I knew that my family would be somewhere on the hill, waiting for me, but as yet I couldn’t see them. Knowing they were there really helped though.
About halfway down the hill I spotted them and I knew they’d be able to see me. It spurred me on that little bit more and I picked up speed once again. The last thing I wanted was to worry them and I knew I wouldn’t look too good, so moving faster was my only hope!
Passing them, I knew that the final bend, leading to the last straight was about 30 seconds away. Time seemed to be moving faster than I would have liked though and the clock was getting uncomfortable close to the hour mark.
Two runners passed me at the very start of the final straight. I told myself out loud to let them go – normally I would have kicked on again and tried to catch them. But now, I was exhausted and my only goal was just to get over the finish line.
I was aware that I was moving fairly quickly though. Somehow I’d found the strength to not quite sprint, but to move a great deal quicker than I’d been doing in the last few miles! At this point in the race people are lining the road and everyone cheers the runners on loudly; but not as loudly as my family. My wife, daughter and son had cut across a field to get to the final stretch and I could hear them shouting encouragement as I got close to the finish. The trouble was, I couldn’t see the finish. Normally, there’s a big arch, but this year just a small sign, so for far longer than was comfortable I was unaware of exactly where I was.
By now my competitive streak had kicked in and I checked over both shoulders, sensing that other runners would be finishing strongly too. To my amazement, it seemed like no one was close, so I turned my head around briefly to check. The nearest runner was at least 20 yards behind me. No one else would pass me now. But then I noticed that up ahead, one competitor was walking. It was a club runner that I’d been close to for the last half of the race, but he’d gotten away from me while I was flagging. I sped up – fractionally – feeling that he was sure to hear me and run, but he didn’t and I was able to make up one more place in the finishing order.
Just when I thought it would never come, the finish line was mere yards away. I could see the clock ticking on. 59.50. My watch was reading a minute less, but that would be my time over the start line, not my gun time. Again, I kicked. I could just dip under the hour mark. Using every last bit of energy, I made it, crossing the line in a time of 59.58!
In amongst the feelings of sheer joy, I must admit that I welled up at the end. Having set this as a goal 6 months previously and nearly not made it, it was a little bit overwhelming. But I wasn’t going to cry in front of hundreds of runners and spectators, so I gritted my teeth, covered my face a bit and took some deep breaths. Job done!
By the time my family located me, I’d picked up my medal, grabbed a bottle of water and was waiting in the queue for a t-shirt. As I stood, my legs were rapidly cramping up though. I knew I hadn’t been able to train enough and was fully aware of what the last 10k had taken out of me. I was so tired that I didn’t have the strength left in my legs to stand still and stretch in order to get rid of the cramp! My wife had to hold onto me, so that I could balance and stretch. Later, when I had to go and take a match for my youth football team things would get worse as I kept getting cramp in my feet, but couldn’t balance in the stretch position needed to alleviate the problem!
So 6 months on from my operation and I feel like I’ve finally achieved something tangible. I certainly feel a great deal more like my old self, even if it’s been a long road to get here. I guess there’s nothing else for it than to keep moving forward. So, where and when is the next race that I can enter?
This is another poem about being poorly. I’m conscious that I’ve written quite a few poems and articles around this theme since the run of the year, but I’m afraid you’ll have to forgive me for getting a little bit obsessed with the failure of my heart.
Luckily, people are always very complimentary about these poems and I’ve received some incredibly supportive messages as I’ve been recovering, which has been a real help. I keep finding these poems tucked away in notebooks on scrap paper and figure that I might as well put them out as a blog. I’ve said this before, but if I don’t they’re just words on a bit of paper that no one other than me will read. Well, what would be the point of a blog in that case?
A Familiar Face
Amazing how, after all this trouble and time,
the answer could be hiding in plain sight.
The thing you feared the most, yet least expected,
the solution to the mystery you'd never have suspected
has come back to haunt you, bring chaos where there was relative calm.
For some time now, you've sensed its approach,
felt the uncomfortable sensation of its hot breath on your neck.
The thing you wouldn't name, but still recognised,
the terror that you lived with, but couldn't look in the eyes
lands a blow to leave you weak at the knees
and grabbing at thin air for balance.
So now, a new danger from a familiar face,
as you fight against yourself, your own failing,
knowing that whatever you do, whatever changes you make
may not be enough
and while all around you wish you well,
offer love, support, concern,
you have never felt so helpless, so frightened, so alone.
There were question marks, asterisks, scribbles and arrows all over this poem when I found it, which suggests that it was another one written in the early hours. The scribbles tell me that it might have been one I wrote after first deciding to go back to bed, but then sitting back down aware that there was another idea or another line still stuck in my head. I’d have been more sleepy than I realised, hence the mistakes and scribbles.
It’s another poem about being ill. This one focuses on the frustration I felt at the fact that my heart worries had come back to trouble me and the fear I had about just how bad I felt post operation.
When I first got poorly having had an episode of palpitations and dizziness in May of last year, I remember explaining to my wife that it frightened me and that I was determined not to end up back in hospital. A month later I was in hospital having tests on my heart. And then, just the other day I read a Facebook memory about a run I’d done in training for the last 10k race that I ran. It was early October of last year and I’d just done my last training run of about 12k and commented that I’d do anything at all to avoid anymore trips to the cardiologist. Sadly, less than a month on, I’d not only collapsed, but had been admitted to hospital to be told the next day that I’d have to have my pacemaker fitted. Life comes at you fast, as they say!
Fingers firmly crossed, but I feel better than I’ve felt in a while, despite a small setback about a month ago. Here’s to less heart-related poetry!
So, this Easter we took a took a trip across the Atlantic for the first time in around 17 years, visiting Toronto and then Washington DC. Both are cities we’ve been to before, but we had our reasons for going back to both.
We have dear friends in Toronto and having not seen them for such a long time, it felt like too good an opportunity to pass up. Our big travels stopped when we had children, meaning at opposite sides of the ocean there were two sets of parents who had watched the other set of kids growing up on the internet! Suffice to say we were all excited to get there.
With Washington – or DC as us seasoned travellers refer to it, somewhat pompously – we just wanted to show our children the sites. It’s been a longstanding joke in our house that when places like The White House or The Capitol Building appear in films, we’ll point out that we’ve been there, much to our children’s frustration! But there’s a lot to see and we felt it was important for them to witness it all first hand.
I didn’t want to write a typical travelogue type piece as the chances are that most readers would already know much about both cities. If they didn’t, then that’s what Google is for. So, instead I’ve done a bit of a Top 10. Toronto today and Washington to follow.
Here’s my Top 10 of Toronto in no particular order.
My friend Andy is an Aussie, who like 94% of all Australians (accurate at time of being completely made up) has found himself living on an entirely different continent. And yes, to answer your inevitable question, he has been a barman once upon a time, I think. He’s lived outside of Oz for over two decades now and amazingly retains his full on Aussie accent. That is, apart from one phrase – “Oh my Gaaaaaaad” – which is always pronounced in a full on Canadian accent. We never talked of this and I’m not even sure that he’s aware of it, but it made me smile again and again, which is enough for it to make my Top 10!
It seems that 99% of Canadians obey the crossing laws. While in England, what those in North America call jaywalking, is simply a way of life, in Canada it feels like everyone waits for permission to cross the road, like one gigantic primary school outing. My wife is an absolute stickler for the crossing rules, so she was naturally thrilled. Me? Bored senseless, gazing down either end of the road seeing no traffic in my way, yet feeling forced to wait for the signal to cross! I can’t deny though that it is a truly incredible phenomenon to watch!
There is an underground walkway that spans nearly 30km and gives access to loads of shops and restaurants, as well as keeping you out of the snow! We’ve now visited Toronto three times and still never used it, mainly due to forgetfulness and being otherwise occupied with sight seeing or searching out Irish bars to watch Premier League football on! This year, we even had a map of ‘The Path’ and still didn’t use it. However, as we were heading to the airport on our final morning, we stopped at a set of lights and there it was…an access point for The Path, the mythical, yet brilliant underground walkway. Maybe next time, Toronto, maybe next time…
The CN Tower seems a blindingly obvious choice for any Top 10 on Toronto, but I just have to mention it. If you don’t know, it’s a huge tower that once upon a time used to be the tallest structure in the world. In fact, it held that title for over 30 years. It was the first thing I pointed out to my kids as we drove into the city and even a glimpse of it makes me smile. Visitors can go up the tower via a very fast elevator and then sample the delights of two different viewing levels, one of which has a section of glass flooring. Sadly, this was being renovated on our latest visit. You can even walk on the outside of one of the viewing areas on the Edgewalk, 116 storeys above the city. Of course, you’d have to be insane to actually sign up for this! Speaking of our latest visit, this year we managed to go up the tower in really poor weather, when it was pouring with rain, thus cutting down our views quite some. However, between the storms – we watched lightning strike just in front of the tower – we were still able to see for miles across the Toronto area and Lake Ontario. At one point, however, we were literally engulfed by a cloud! It was still fantastic to be back at the tower.
Back to a very personal memory of Toronto, again featuring my friend Andy. This is definitely not one you’d find in your average Top 10, though. Years ago, when we first met his then girlfriend, Kim, it made us smile that sometimes, especially when she was a little irked by him, she would refer to him using his full name. So, it will come as no surprise whatsoever to learn that it made us chuckle when it turned out that she still does this! Even my kids noticed it and it’s been mentioned on a fairly regular basis since we got home.
If you visit Toronto as a tourist then it’s almost inevitable that you’ll take a trip to Niagara Falls. After all, it’s said to be one of the mythical ‘Wonders of The World’. Now if you haven’t been you might just think that it’s ‘just’ a waterfall. Let me tell you different. Niagara Falls is simply remarkable, particularly the Canadian side and the Horseshoe Falls which stands 57m high. The sheer volume and force of the water heading over the edge of the waterfall is quite amazing and it really is a sight to behold. You’d think that a river going over a cliff wouldn’t be all that…but it really, really is. And yes, it’s very touristy, but it’s undeniably worth a few hours of your time. We even went into Niagara itself to play glow-in-the-dark mini golf!
Niagara on The Lake is a beautiful small town, near Niagara Falls, where the Niagara River meets Lake Ontario. It’s worth a visit just because it’s so picturesque, but if that wasn’t enough there’s a year round Christmas shop to tempt you too, as well as a number of pubs and various cafes and shops. Strangely, there are an abundance of hat shops too! If you’re not from America or Canada, Niagara on The Lake is the picture perfect small American/Canadian town that you see in your mind when you imagine what this type of place looks like.
On our last full day in Toronto – Good Friday – we went to spend some time with our friends in their neighbourhood. They live in the Beaches area of Toronto and it’s one of the most laid back places I’ve ever visited. On this particular day the streets were packed with parents and children either going to or coming away from Easter Egg hunts, many adorned with bunny ears. We had a gluten free brunch in The Haven cafe before heading down to the beaches that run alongside Lake Ontario and give this neighbourhood its name. It was a gloriously sunny morning and we took a long walk down the boardwalk all the way along the shore, just chatting, laughing and sharing memories. On a few occasions I slowed down and drfited off the back of the group just to watch them all walking along; my wife, my mates and our kids all together for the first time ever! Having been ill for months before this and genuinely wondering if I’d ever be able to do this sort of thing again, it felt completely wonderful and helped me see how much better I am. Finally, I felt relaxed. I think this was the morning that I knew I was going to be alright and that I could start to live properly with my pacemaker.
The wildlife in and around Toronto has always fascinated myself and my wife. On one occasion years ago, my mate Andy toured us around their neighbourhood just so that we could see a racoon. Racoons are the scourge of Toronto bins and residents aren’t too fond of them, but my wife was more interested in how cute they are. Toronto residents have christened them ‘trash pandas’ which I can only think would make them even more appealing to her. Andy also performed a U-turn in the car on another day so that we could go back down the road as he’d spotted a groundhog! On our recent trip, we spotted deer at the side of the highway coming back from Niagara and there seemed to be an abundance of eagles hovering around trees by the lake. However, our wildlife highlight happened on the way to the falls when in Niagara itself we saw a skunk on the pavement! Bizarrely, some locals were feeding it, despite the threat of a spray from said animal leaving them stinking like Satan’s armpits for days.
On the afternoon of Good Friday we visited the Distillery district of the city. This is an area of Victorian industrial buildings that has been revamped and renovated by developers, making a fabulous place to spend some time. It’s just not like a museum as while the buildings retain their industrial look, the district is made up of shops, restaurants, galleries and cafes. It was lovely and sunny when we went and such a striking place to see. The Distillery District gave us a brilliantly relaxed afternoon of shopping and wandering pretty aimlessly. Exactly what we needed after a hectic few days since arriving in Toronto. However, our relaxation was cut short when we got a text from our old Uni friend. Judith, telling us that she was in a brewery bar on the other side of the city if we wanted to come and meet. And so, we were on the march again, as we were quite a way out of town.! Thankfully our race across Toronto wasn’t in vain and we were in time to meet up and spend a lovely couple of hours chatting about our lives in Toronto and the UK before heading back to our hotel to pack for the next leg of our trip.
I’d thoroughly recommend Toronto. It’s a hugely welcoming city and there’s always something to do. I certainly didn’t struggle to put a Top 10 together; in fact I could have written a lot more. The best thing about the place though, is that it’s generally very friendly and welcoming. Even when we went searching out places in unfamiliar districts we felt safe, which is essential if you’re visiting with kids.
I hope you enjoyed my Top 10. It’s possibly a little bit different in places, but if you were after a guide, then Google can probably help! Hopefully though, there’s enough here to whet your appetite for a visit!
It’s been a busy April with an amazing transatlantic trip, time at home to rest afterwards, the start of my first term back at work with an almost full teaching timetable and some glorious grassroots football. There’s been a lot to leave me exhausted, but a lot to make me smile as well.
So here’s the latest edition of this occasional series.
A brilliant holiday. I have a blog ready to go about part 1 of this trip, so I won’t go into too much detail. It couldn’t be ignored though. The first leg of our trip took us back to Toronto, a city we’d last visited about 17 years ago, pre-children (otherwise known as our fun years!). The city brought lots of smiles simply by being Toronto, as it’s one of our favourites. However, what made me smile most – while at the same time having a transformative effect on my recovery from health issues – was seeing dear friends again. We have friends in Toronto who I first met over 20 years ago, while I was in my first teaching post. My mate Andy is an Aussie who was travelling at the time and spending some time in the UK. Somehow, he found his way to a small village somewhere in the hinterland between Leeds and Castleford in West Yorkshire. We connected instantly and have been laughing ever since. His girlfriend. now wife Kim, is a Torontonian and thus they settled there. She is also a fantastic person and again, someone who loves a laugh. Suffice to say, the two couples have always got on well. It was just an absolute blessing to spend time with them again (and with their fantastic children) and it felt like we’d never been apart. My health issues felt like they lifted in Toronto and kept moving away in Washington DC (our second port of call) and I genuinely feel much more optimistic about things now. Washington DC was everything you’d expect. Again, we’d been before, but it was great to be back. At times DC is like walking through a film set because you’ve seen so much of it before on screen. Suffice to say, the sheer amount of iconic buildings and monuments brought a great big grin to my face!
I Am The Champion! We flew Aer Lingus to and from our destinations. I’d never flown with them before, but I’d thoroughly recommend them having now done so. However, what I achieved on the flights was the thing that made me smile. In amongst the selection of films and TV shows to watch or even music to listen to, I stumbled upon the games. At first, I stuck to playing video pool which I wasn’t very good at. But then I found the Trivia game which was to all intents and purposes a general knowledge quiz. Now, I class myself as someone who knows a lot of ‘stuff’. Pub quiz knowledge, you might say. And to cut a long story short, by the end of my flight home I was not only first, but also second on the leaderboard, thus enabling me to crown myself as Aer Lingus Trivia World Champion! If anyone at the airline reads this and wants to send me my trophy, I’d be most grateful!
Spring! To be honest, it’s not got a great deal warmer here in the UK, but Spring has definitely sprung. The usual things about this made me smile: the blossom on the trees, the definite sense that there’s less rain about and the blooming of flowers like daffodils and crocuses in our garden. But the thing that made me smile the most was the sight of my back lawn, freshly cut after 3 legs of cutting it over three days, due to the fact that it had suddenly grown to about a foot long in lots of places! When our particular jungle is tamed, it makes a real difference!
I’m running again! I’ll keep this short as I could do without cursing myself and this ending up as another false start, but I’m running again. I feel much stronger and fitter and for the past two weeks have been out running twice a week. I’m building up to one of my big recovery goals, which I think will be very difficult, so wish me luck! Getting out running – especially an early morning one last Saturday – has got me smiling again.
5. Giraffes! My daily visit to the BBC website is always a good source for something heartwarming and a few days ago I read a story about Giraffes on Tour, a charity associated with the Great Ormond Street Children’s Hospital. They were filling every seat with a toy giraffe on a routine refueling flight in order to raise money for the hospital. So, children had temporarily donated their toy giraffe to go on the flight, presumably in return for a cash donation, and then on their return they got not just their toy back, but a certificate too. It’s a lovely story and another brilliant example of the kind of charity work that most of have no idea goes on. And if that doesn’t make you smile, have a look at the photos!
Whenever a homegrown player does well, we drag out the chant. You know, that one. And it could be literally anything remotely positive that the player has done. A three yard pass, clapping the fans, slyly kicking the ball away to waste a few more seconds in time added on. It doesn’t matter – “He’s one of our own”. What’s important is that they came through the system and preferably before that, they lived a similarly ordinary life as the rest of us.
This season we’ve found a new one who deserves the chant . Not, Elliot Anderson or Sean Longstaff. Not even one of the Mileys. No, in actual fact he’s been around for ages. With his mix of pace, energy and an excellent line in shithousery, Jacob Murphy has transcended geography and academy membership and firmly taken his place as one of our own.
Murphy was signed from Norwich by Rafa Benitez in July 2017. He came with a great deal of promise, but with only one full season for Norwich under his belt, there was more than a hint of ‘one for the future’ about him. He was 22 years old and signing for his boyhood club having just starred for England Under21s in the Euros; Jacob Murphy had the world at his feet.
In the 6 seasons since he signed for the club, Murphy has made 124 appearances, 66 of which came as a substitute. During those first three seasons he only made 34 appearances for the club as he was shipped out on loan in both 2019 and 2020, to West Brom and Sheffield Wednesday respectively. Suddenly, the world most certainly wasn’t at his feet and the dream move was simply not working out. In fact, I remember people asking if we’d signed the right Murphy – Jacob is a twin, if you didn’t know and his brother Josh was performing well for Cardiff at the time.
Back at Newcastle, he managed to work his way back into the squad but was frequently played out of position by Steve Bruce, the master of wedging square pegs in round holes. The move still wasn’t working out and it felt like he was a player who would definitely be sold, sooner rather than later. Another move that we could all put down to experience.
And then, Jacob Murphy got ‘Eddied’.
Eddie Howe has been transformative for Murphy. I don’t think that’s necessarily been in terms of ability either. Murphy was a very talented player when we signed him and in my opinion was one who suffered with poor man management. For me, Rafa Benitez didn’t seem to know what to do with him and when it looked like he may well be overwhelmed with his ‘dream’ move, Benitez didn’t seem able to help. I think this was and is probably just a flaw of Benitez’s management style, as former players seem to have been at pains to talk about the very formal relationship that they had with their ex boss. As a result, Murphy went out to West Brom on loan in August 2019. He must have felt like his dream move just wasn’t going to work out.
Steve Bruce had a similar effect on Murphy. Shortly after Bruce’s arrival at the club, Murphy was sent on loan again, this time to Sheffield Wednesday with reasonable success. Upon his return to the Newcastle, he was a fairly peripheral figure and for a lot of Bruce’s time he was played out of position as a wing back in a failing system. You could see the confidence draining out of the lad and he seemed to become a specialist in making terrible decisions. This was highlighted with his choice of trying to dink the ball over Watford’s keeper when clean through on goal with the chance of a winner. Instead, he just planted the ball into the keeper’s arms. By the sound of the Radio Newcastle commentary, I don’t think John Anderson will ever get over it!
By the time we were taken over, it felt like the end of the Jacob Murphy story was nigh. He looked almost certain to be sold. And yet, to his eternal credit, he dug in, held on and retained a place in the squad. The rest is, as they say history.
Eddie Howe has repeatedly reminded us of Murphy’s value to the squad. Successive players – Sean Longstaff springs to mind – have stressed his importance in terms of the spirit in the group. Longstaff said, “If it wasn’t for Murph, a lot of the way the group is it wouldn’t be as together, the training standard wouldn’t be as high. You see him coming on in games and the impact he makes.” He went on to refer to Murphy as a “comfort blanket”. And you can see where those sentiments come from. Murphy just seems like the archetypal ‘good lad’; a bit of a laugh, a positive influence and someone who’s always smiling. Jacob Murphy is having a ball.
As fans, our awareness of Jacob Murphy has been raised by his antics on the pitch as well as his improving form. From his mock awkward expression as he brushed past an apoplectic Marco Silva when we’d beaten Fulham, to his waving off of Duje Caleta-Car in the cup semi final against Southampton, right through to the shocked expression on his face after his screamer against Spurs recently. Brilliant to see from a Toon player, but infuriating for the opposition, which seems to be our trademark these days!
In may ways, Jacob Murphy is the poster boy for Eddie Howe’s quiet revolution. He’s certainly the latest to benefit from Howe’s methods and is finally fulfilling what was the undoubted potential he showed when we signed him all those years ago. Murphy’s decision making seems to have got a great deal better and he seems to be brimming with confidence. No more running down blind alleys; these days Murphy seems quite happy to back himself and take defenders on. And as for his second goal against Tottenham? I think his own reaction summed it up, really. As he said himself, he was “feeling juicy”! For me though, it was easily one of the biggest ‘Wow’ moments in a season full of ‘Wow’ moments. As the saying goes, ‘what a hit’! Add in the goal on Thursday night against Everton and Murphy is timing his run to the end of the season just right.
Murphy has been in every match day squad this season, appearing in every game and has also now started 6 of the last 7 matches. Currently, he’s playing brilliantly and keeping top scorer Miguel Almiron out of the team. If you’d said these things at the start of the season, I doubt anyone would have believed that they’d actually happen.
Remember as well, that Newcastle United were his boyhood club. He gets to pull on the shirt and is representing that badge brilliantly. He’s loved by the fans and massively appreciated by his team mates, as well as probably being increasingly feared by the opposition. Jacob Murphy is well and truly living the Geordie dream!
It’s been a tough start to the year as a grassroots football coach. Illness meant that for the final couple of months of 2022 I wasn’t able to coach my team and while I returned to games in January, I couldn’t take a training session until March of 2023.
Despite the hardship, there was no point in grumbling. In terms of my health, anything that I was able to do was simply a bonus. Even organising a training session for someone else to take occupied my mind for a bit, meaning a change in my boring 4 month long routine of a daily walk and then little else.
Then, when I was able to return full time to actual games, it just felt amazing to be involved again. A few of the boys in the squad hadn’t trained while I was in recovery as they weren’t keen on the coaches that replaced me, so it was great to see them back when I returned. And I can honestly say that when our goalkeeper told me, “It’s good to see you”, it was one of the happiest moments of my whole recovery.
We’re a team of varied ability with a smattering of really capable young footballers joined by a group with less ability but lots of enthusiasm. We play in Division 6 of 7, which is an indicator of the ability, but at the start of January we were rock bottom of our league with no wins and no points. In my first game back on 15th January we lost 10-0 and things looked pretty bleak. However, a 4-0 defeat in our next game, against a very good side near the top of the league, was heartening. We were organised, determined and it was clear that the message was getting through. We were finally being competitive in games.
On 5th February this year we played the team who were at the top of our league. I’ll be honest, we’ve never given them a decent game in the three years that we’ve been playing against them, so I didn’t have a great deal of hope. Amazingly though, everything clicked and despite the fact that we were clinging on towards the end of the game, we won 3-2! It was a memorable day and as I was still weak from my operation, it took everything out of me. But, I was smiling and so were my team.
In our next game we reverted to type somewhat and got thumped again, but not long after we picked up another point in a home draw. We’d led three times in the game, so the signs were very good. We lost the next three games, but rarely looked anything but competitive. Confidence was growing…
And then, after a few weather induced postponements came our latest two games. The first one on 16th April followed by last night (at the time of writing), Thursday 20th April. We won both games, scoring 6 goals, conceding 3 and dominating both games for long periods of time. In the main, only silly decisions and mistakes put us under any pressure and had we taken more of the numerous chances we created then we would have given someone a real thumping.
In the first of those games we got in at half time a goal down, but somehow full of confidence that we could win. We looked good and seemed the fitter of the two teams. If we applied some pressure, the three points were there for the taking. I pointed out that only one team looked like they wanted the win and it was us. And win we did, scoring three goals without reply in that second 35 minutes.
Last night was different. An away game against a team that had beaten us a few weeks ago, a local rival and the team just above us in the league. But we went 2-0 up quite early and were by far the better team. At half time we told the lads that we could only beat ourselves; the game was there for the taking. Concentrate, no silly decisions, no need to chase the win as we were 2-0 up. We conceded a goal after about a minute of the second half!
After that though we settled really well and extended our lead midway through the half to almost break the spirits of our opposition. Almost. However, in the last 10 minutes their coaches, their players and even their parents began pressuring the referee for fouls left, right and centre. We kept going forward and really should have added a few more goals, but with about 3 minutes left one of our defenders made a silly challenge and the ref awarded a penalty, which they scored.
My boys fought like lions after that. We slowed everything down, threw ourselves into challenges and battled to keep control of the ball. It felt like about an hour before the ref blew the final whistle and it was brilliant to watch the reaction of our squad as substitutes ran on to the field to celebrate with their squad mates. You’d have thought we’d won a cup final! But what a joy to see after the last few months.
My team have suffered this year. Opponents – and sadly, some coaches – have laughed at them in defeat. Lots of things have gone wrong. My heart surgery seemed to shock them, not least my son who plays for the team and came home crying after a game in December when I couldn’t attend and they got beat in the last seconds of the game. And as a result of my surgery, they’ve had to make do, training with a younger age group for months. Rarely have their heads dropped and they’ve shown up in numbers week after week. Now, as we ride the wave of optimism that any victory brings, let alone 2 in 5 days, it feels like we’re a hell of a team and I couldn’t be more proud.
Speaking to my wife in hospital in November, I told her that I didn’t think I’d be able to carry on coaching. It made me feel very sad, but it made sense while my body, and to some extent my mind, felt so broken. Now, there might just be a little bit of light at the end of the tunnel and there’s definitely not a lot to grumble about!
A poem with a message, this one. It’s about not giving up and for me personally, it’s about the health problems I’ve had and the importance to me of not giving in to them. It’s about getting better. If it means something to anyone else or helps in any way, then that’s a rather lovely bonus.
I know that everyone has their problems, their bumps in the road and that some people have it far worse than others; far worse than me. But I’m a big believer in working my way back into the right frame of mind or the right headspace. So this is a poem about the fact that we can’t change a lot of what happens to us. It happened. It will leave a mark. But for me personally, I think it’s important to keep moving. For me, I need to recover and there’s been a lot of telling myself that lately.
You can't unring a bell.
its sound resonates across rooms, miles, borders
and the act that made the sound cannot be changed.
Eventually, the noise will stop, but the memory will always remain.
You can't illuminate the darkness with a permanence
that will mean you never have to stumble down a path again.
What's done is done now though.
Sometimes it will feel like one beating too many,
the volume of the punches thrown
is sure to leave bruises
and you'll feel like you can't get up.
Haul yourself to your knees,
grab someone or something for support,
clear your head and try, as best you can,
to get back up on your feet.
Let your eyes adjust to the darkness.
Let you body stop aching.
Breathe and then feel your way back, however slowly, into the light.
The poem started with just the first line. I heard it somewhere – I don’t remember where – and I really liked it. I didn’t really know what it meant, apart from its literal meaning. So, I wrote it down on a scrap of paper to come back to. When I got back to it, the poem just flowed around the idea of moving on from whatever it is that happens. You can’t unring a bell, but it will getting quieter.
I understand that it’s never just as simple as that and that’s what I was referring to with the metaphor of the bell. Once it’s rung, it’s rung. Once it’s stopped making the noise we will still hear it, still remember what it sounds like. We’ll suffer with the things that happen to us and we perhaps won’t forget them. But it’s hugely important to try and move on.
I hope you liked the poem. It’s a short one, but I hope it means something to more than just me.
Every once in a while I’ve written an update of what I called my ‘Pacemaker Diary’ over the last few months. It’s mainly because it’s a good way for me to have a bit of a moan, but it also fills people in on how things are going and means that there might just be a few less people that I have to lie to and fob off by telling them I’m ‘getting there’. I mean, if I had a pound for every time I’d said that since November, I’d be a millionaire. I’d also be very annoyed at myself for not discovering this get rich quick scheme a lot earlier.
I thought I’d update simply because a lot of them so far have been about progress, however small that’s been. But lately, my progress has slowed to a crawl again. Maybe writing about it might help me find the motivation that’s needed to keep moving on. Or maybe it’ll help me to ‘frame myself’ as some would say in our part of Yorkshire.
It’s been a shock that such a small thing could derail me so much. But initially it was a slight cold that slowed me right down. It was a couple of weeks ago that I was aware that I was slowing down again. I couldn’t go upstairs without feeling out of breath and had a hint of a cough. So it wasn’t a heavy cold, but it was having an effect on me.
At the same time I’d stepped up the hours of teaching on my phased return to work, taking on an additional class and four extra hours of teaching a week. That weekend the football team that I coach had its game cancelled, leaving me with a free Sunday. Rather than rest, I decided to go for a run in the early morning sunshine. Boy, would I regret that.
I hadn’t even ran a mile and I was struggling. But, I kept on going. Not long after though, a little voice in my head was telling me that I couldn’t do this. It was a voice that dominated me when I was younger, but one that I really hadn’t heard in years. Still, I kept on until faced with a long hill to run up, I decided on a compromise. With my body aching and struggling to breath steadily I re-routed, doubled back and avoided the hill, settling for running a 5k (3.1 miles) rather than the 4 miles I’d been aiming for. It was slow and ragged, but worst of all, I didn’t enjoy even one step of it.
I only just made it. My legs felt like they were falling forward independently of the rest of my body and I was wheezing heavily. I was alarmed by just how I terrible I felt. I took a photo of myself when I’d finished and it horrified me when I looked at it later. I looked haggered and old. Everything hurt and it left me feeling very down. My body continued to ache well into the next week.
On the Monday at work, my Year 7 form were added to the mix on my timetable and even on the first day of that happening I was struggling. I’d had a poor weekend, not really sleeping and struggling to shift the tiny bit of cold that I’d picked up. On the very first day of the week I put in a request to have my last lesson of the day covered in order to head home early. Work, as ever during this whole nightmare, were kind and obliging. A great start to the week though and enough to show me that getting back to a full teaching timetable might have to be a way off yet.
I’m also struggling with a back problem that had first hit me in February. I’d bent down to pick up my son’s football boots and been hit by nausea inducing levels of pain as my back froze. I’ve struggled with my back for many years, so I though it would pass within a week or so, but it hasn’t. Instead, even as I write, I can feel pain in my hips and hamstrings. The pain has moved down my body and in way, I feel more fragile than ever. Nothing to do with my heart – for once – but enough to begin to get me down.
The next weekend brought even more problems and no run, making me feel like any recovery had very much ground to a halt. I seemed to have picked up some sort of bug and felt dizzy and sick the whole time.
My heart continues to just plod along nicely, kept in check by the little machine that sits just underneath my left collarbone. The scarring hurts still, but that feels like the least of my worries.
The most frustrating thing of all is that my heart feels fine. However, having hidden the problem for around 6 months last year and then had to take so long off work after my operation, my body might just be a little bit broken. Clearly working for so long with the problem has really cost me. Clearer still, spending four months at home, only managing a daily walk while being otherwise inactive doesn’t keep your fitness at the levels you might need, however much you might kid yourself.
I’m quickly learning that my body is going to take much, much longer than I thought to heal. It feels like the slightest little problem, like a cold or a stomach bug, is going to have a huge effect, setting me back if not to square one, then square 3 or 4 at best. Impatient as I am, I wanted to be just stepping off square 25 by this point. As a result, I’m angry and sad and I really don’t like feeling that way.
I’m hopeful that the coming weeks will go better for me. I’ve rested and not gone out for a run for over a week, but I hope that I’ll feel ready enough soon to get going once again. I’ve entered a 10k race in May and am desperate to take part. It’ll really hurt if I’m not able to do it.
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